Esoterically Yours
by FeistyFeist
Summary: Ponyboy Curtis meets an acquaintance he has been trying to dodge for years.
1. Chapter 1

I. Prologue

Ponyboy Curtis turned 15 with great expectations.

The birthday party was just like any other birthday party – minus the pomp and circumstance. A low key affair: cake, a few simple presents and only the most important of friends.

I had been introduced to Ponyboy a year before – two times in the same week – and I was quite anxious to meet him again, relive the good times. Although, I shouldn't complain. I did get two for one that week but it's not often someone slips through my grasp. That jarred me. The elusive ones are always the fighters, the challenge.

And man, I love a good challenge.

I walk up the step and through the front door. No one acknowledges me. The oldest – Darry – is sticking candles in the birthday cake. He's anxious like I am and I wonder if he can feel what may be about to happen. Darry swats away the friend named Two-Bit who has just snagged a piece of cake. Darry straightens himself up to full height, his bellow filling the room. But he's smiling.

I smile as well and sit in his recliner. It's soft and worn in. The other two, Sodapop and Steve, arrive home from work, crease caking their palms. Soda goes to the sink, asking where his brother his, pumping soap into his hands. Steve pulls out a deck of cards, flinging the Jokers at Two-Bit.

The house is alive with so much energy. Death, life, love. I bask in it.

The five people in this house right now are everything to everyone here. They have blinders on when it comes to others. It's a strange feeling to realize their importance and relish it.

Then, he walks in.

He's taller than I last remember. Long legged and lean; his shaggy hair and crooked smile still reminding everyone that he's still a kid. I look at his brothers who will never forget that.

My gut tightens. He's not like the others. There's a connection, I _feel_ empathy for him. He's important. Special.

The brothers grin. They shift their weight as he enters and say "Happy Birthday" in unison. Ponyboy's embarrassed but not displeased. Sodapop gives him a hug and ruffles his hair.

Darry stands there. His pride and his exhaustion and his love radiating out from him. At first, I think I am the only one who can feel it when Ponyboy looks at him. "Thanks, Dar," Pony says.

Like I said, the kid gets it. Just like me.

Pony looks at the cake and then at Two-Bit. "Did you take a bite?" he asks.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Two-Bit scoffs.

Ponyboy touches his own mouth. "Because you got some chocolate right here, Sherlock."

Two-Bit chortles and then gets him in a headlock and the wrestling begins. They hit the table, knocking the presents off and jostling the cake. I stare at the shaking cake, wondering if my work will be over before it begins but then Sodapop grabs the edge and rights it on the table.

Steve passes Darry the matches and Darry lights the candles. Ponyboy rolls his eyes at the 15 candles but takes a breath and _poofs_ them out. It's a fairly tame birthday – the cake is cut and dished out and the boys lounge around the kitchen, laughing and talking between mouthfuls of chocolate cake and beer. Steve's annoying Ponyboy and vice versa, Darry's watching his family, feeling proud and thankful, and Two-Bit's telling Sodapop about a girl who might be the perfect match. Sodapop shakes his head, telling him to forget it.

I stand up. The recliner shakes and Darry and Ponyboy glance my way. Pony gives Darry a quizzical glance and then grins. He digs into his piece of cake, the fork prongs stabbing a large chunk. I move toward the kid, setting my hat on the kitchen table. He takes the bite and I place a hand on his shoulder. He chews once, twice, and then swallows.

Or at least tries to.

I tighten my grip on his shoulder.

Ponyboy's throat closes up. I won't let him swallow. His green eyes go very wide as he thinks about what is happening. He can feel me, I'm that close. His hands fly up and touch his throat. He watches the others in the kitchen, chatting and drinking, oblivious. Then his hands fly down again and bang the table for attention. His brothers look up.

He's blue. It doesn't take a genius to tell them what is happening. "Oh shit," Soda swears jumping down from his seat on the counter. But it's who Darry has him before anyone.

Darry's pounding his back and the kid's still making those small strangling sounds. "C'mon, goddamn it, cough," Darry says as Pony still finds no air. And when I see Darry's eyes, they're frantic. Two-Bit grabs up the telephone.

I step aside, watching by the stove. It's no comfort to me that I have to take him. He's one of those people I'd rather survive, fight me if they can. It makes my job more interesting that way. Not an antagonist so much as a test.

Acknowledging the sheer irony of this is something I'm not pleased to do—choking and dying on the day when you were born. Even the stupidity of it— getting done in by a piece of birthday cake isn't that much of an admirable way to go out. For Ponyboy Curtis it's a damn shame because the kid deserves so much better.

I sigh, not liking what I'm about to do.

Moving closer, in the middle of a shouting Darry Curtis, I touch Pony's shoulder again. A shock goes through both of us as I take his strength. Pony's eyes flutter and then he's down. His legs slump beneath him and he and Darry both fall to the floor. I kneel down beside them.

"Darry! Do something!" Sodapop is hollering, on the verge of something I can't fathom.

"Damn it," Darry whispers so low only I can hear him. "Don't do this. Please don't do this." He bends low to his brother and gives him the "pulse of life". He breathes into Ponyboy and pumps his chest five times.

I stand up and grab my hat from the table, ready to commend myself for a job well done when there's a choking, coughing noise from behind me.

I allow myself to remain frozen for a few moments and then turn to face him.

Ponyboy's writhing on the ground, harsh breaths coming from his windpipe, so painful that I even wince. Darry, pale and sweating, rubs his brother's back, encouraging him to breath.

Impressed and curious, I move closer. Three times he's beaten me. The fountain, the fire and now here. I kneel by his side. Pony's staring up blankly at the ceiling, his chest heaving. Sodapop kneels on his other side. "Pone?" he asks in his own choked voice. "Are you ok?"

Steve and Two-Bit stare down at him. "Jesus, kid." Steve rubs his eyes.

They'll joke about it when it's over: the kid's cursed, he's unlucky, charmed, he's got nine lives. But the fact of the matter is _they're right_. He _is_ cursed. Tragedy breeds tragedy but it also amounts to something else – a sixth sense, a feeling, an openness others don't have. It's all wrapped up in the kid. He has what I may need.

Ponyboy nods. It hurts to speak. Then his head lolls to his left and his face clouds up. He sees me. Sees death.


	2. Chapter 2

II. Feelings

I recall the moment I take everyone with perfect clarity. Oftentimes, they curse me or murmur a simple goodbye – a goodbye to their family, their lives, their own selves.

Gandhi was a pleasure; he didn't put up a fight. He took what came his way with calm. Anne Boleyn, on the other hand, argued, bargained and cajoled the entire time. She was undeserving of death but I try and take myself out of the equation. No personal judgments.

I've seen very much. And as much history as my past holds I tend to think about those deaths that have been the most recent. The little circle of loss that involves a favorite human of mine is of most particular interest.

I am not a fortune teller. I can't read the future, discern fates in advance. For example, I don't know that in twenty years you'll be dying of a heart attack. I'll know a month, a week in advance. After all, I have to have some semblance schedule. When I get that memo, that piece of information telling me what I am to do, who I must touch, I pencil you in.

I am not heartless. I know when the bad should go and when the good shouldn't. I also have the power but not what you might think – so do they.

Sometimes – though not very often – that memo can be wrong. People fight, claw their way back to the living all the while giving me the finger. And I applaud them. I want them to.

_Kudos. Until next time_, I think.

Because there _will_ be a next time. Maybe soon, maybe in 50 years, but no matter what, death will always outlive them.

*

I have this itch.

An itch to skip town, go to Windrixville, the fountain, the cemetery, anything to justify my thoughts. Since last week two main things have developed in my life: a surprising distaste of chocolate cake and a cold sensation I can't quite place.

The birthday party was a disaster. In fact, I'll be lucky if Darry and Soda ever throw me one again. I don't remember much after Darry finished pounding on my chest. I just recall an odd haze in my vision.

"Pony." Soda whispers in my ear. "Stop squirming."

"Sorry," I mumble. "I can't sleep."

He yawns and rubs my back. "Pony…" Feeling him drifting off, I wait a few more seconds and then grab a book and exit the room. If I can't sleep, no reason Soda shouldn't. It's hot. Hotter than it should be in June. My feet pad across the cool floor and I find myself on the porch.

I sit down in a chair and despite the heat I shiver.

As soon as I sit down, I stand up. I give in. I leave my book on the railing and cross the yard.

*

The fountain's no longer full. Somewhere along the way they stopped filling it with water. Guess it's not every day a kid's nearly drowned. I sit on its edge, wondering what in the hell I'm doing. With my luck, Soda will know I'm missing and soon he and Darry will be out here with the flashlights and search party.

I squint into the darkness. I can replay the last time I was here in my head in perfect color and sound. The blood's just as bright, Johnny still as scared, myself barely there. Scratching the back of my head, I yawn. Unwilling to go back to the house, I lie down on the cement fountain and stare at the inky sky above.

*

He's feeling it. It's happened to some before but not many.

Before I get ahead, allow me to explain. Normal people, people who've cheated death in an awkward or lucky scenario, suddenly begin to become overwhelmed with unease, thoughts of death or of others who have passed. They feel more than they have before but this confuses them and they doubt themselves.

Ponyboy Curtis is one of the few. Perhaps the best one. The kid's always been sensitive, felt and seen more than he should at such a young age. His mother knew this too. She saw him.

It's not his fault he's clumsy, that he's been in precarious situations time and time again that most people would raise an eyebrow at. It's my fault. I roll the dice and _bam!_ he's where I want him to be. I shouldn't have such vested interest in this child but he intrigues me.

I'm not sure if he'll be going soon or if I'm just hanging around because of what happened last weekend. Something tells me I'll find out soon enough.

I watch him sleeping on the ledge of the fountain. I know he's dreaming because I'm in the dream. His parents are too. They were such nice people, I hated to take them.

Ponyboy whimpers. I slink closer, almost staring down at him. I want to talk to him, to test him. I want to know how he can beat me.

*

"Hey kid, wake up," a gruff voice is saying.

Early sunlight hits my corneas. "Mmmm," I mutter, rolling onto my side and wondering why my bed feels suspiciously like a pile of rocks. That's when I remember the fountain. Shit. I twist around and tumble off, hitting the cement. I look up into the face of a cop. Double shit.

He pokes me with his boot. "What're you doin out here?"

"I fell asleep…" I mumble, pulling myself to my feet. He stares into my face. I blink against the sun and stare at my…bare feet.

"Do your parents know you're out here?" The cop's tone is confused. "This park ain't exactly the latest and greatest anymore. A couple kids were killed here last year."

I back up a few steps, giving him the signal that I'm leaving. "So I've heard." He keeps staring at me. "Thanks for the wake-up call," I tell him, hurrying off.

I'm halfway to my house, thinking about how Darry's foot is going to look (not to mention feel) hitting my ass, when I slam into Steve Randle.

We tumble backwards. Steve bounces into some trash cans and I trip over the curb and land in the gutter. He looks at me for a long moment and then bares his teeth. "Nice shoes."

I scowl.

"Where the hell have you been?" Steve snaps. "Darry's going crazy."

I stay sitting in the road and cover my face with my hands. My voice is muffled. "Can you just tell him you found me in the gutter?"

"I don't think that will work." Steve laughs, it's harsh and sympathetic at the same time. "What's with you, kid?"

"Steve," I tell him, "I have no idea."

He kneels beside me, scrutinizing my face. "Well, you don't look stoned. And there's no alcohol on your breath…so I figure you're just being your bratty, forgetful self."

I laugh and stick a hand out. He grabs my shoulder. This simple acts cause a shiver to run through my spine. I jolt as if I've been shocked. Steve watches me closely and then sits down on the curb next to me.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just cold."

Steve gives me an odd look but helps me up.

*

The kid's getting chewed out by his oldest brother. Normally, I try not to be a voyeur but this family draws me in. I check my watch; I have about ten more minutes and then I must go.

Ponyboy sits on the couch, a resigned frown on his face as Darry Curtis exudes the ramifications of wandering around town in the middle of the night and sleeping in various places.

"They're called bums," Steve puts in. Darry tells him to can it and Ponyboy smiles into his fist.

"You think this is funny?" Darry sits down next to his brother. "You can't do stuff like this."

"I know, I'm sorry." His voice is a feather. "I couldn't sleep." The middle brother and friend with sideburns are still scouring the city for the kid. They don't know he's back.

The family is jumpy. It's been nearly a year since Ponyboy's last experience with me. They don't understand why but can unconsciously feel me lurking.

Darry puts an arm around his brother. He's the one who's changed very much. He still yells but he tries to appreciate Ponyboy's rebuttals. "Won't you just try and listen? Please, do this for me." Ponyboy nods, giving Steve a glare as Steve snorts.

I lean in closer, hearing his unsaid words. What he really wants to do is scream at Ponyboy: _Haven't you learned? Remember what happened the last time you wandered around and fell asleep in the lot? How can you forget? I sure as hell can't._

Darry takes a breath and looks at the both of them, looks through me. "I'm late for work."

*

Normally I'd appreciate summer and my freedom but it's not the same. Everyone has a job, even Two-Bit, which makes me feel lazier than usual. Somehow Two-Bit snagged his dream job; he started out bussing tables at a local tavern but impressed the boss with his forward wit and surprisingly quick reflexes. This led him into bartending three nights a week. Needless to say, he's in heaven with free alcohol and all the blondes he can handle.

Finished dusting for the third time today, I set the Fantastik on the kitchen table and sink into a chair. Social Services haven't shown up in a while but we can't be too careful. Besides, it's the least I can do since my brother's are working.

There's a knock at the door and I grin, thinking it's Two-Bit and a six-pack.

Grabbing up the window cleaner I make my way to the door and swing it open. "Well, well, it's about time you showed—"

The word dies on my lips. Standing in front of me is a tall guy with long black hair. I don't know him. "Can I help you?" I ask, tugging the door shut so that a thin sliver separates us.

He looks surprised at the formality and clears his throat. "Is uh, Dallas Winston here?"

I feel the blood drain from my face. "That's not funny." I try and slam the door shut. The guy sticks his foot in the crack, blocking me from closing it on him.

"What's not? Whatever it is, I'm not in on the joke." He tries to laugh and it sounds like gravel is stuck in his throat.

I eye him with suspicion. "Who are you?"

"I'm a friend of Dallas."

"Must not be that good of a friend, then. Dal's dead."

The guy barely blinks. "Aw, shit."

*

Review please.


	3. Chapter 3

III. Catalyst

*

The guy has a letter Dally wrote him a year ago, telling him that he lives at our house. "Here," the guy says, sticking the letter in my hands.

I look at the faded writing; the pen twisted and mangled strokes. I've never seen Dal's writing this personal. "Can I keep this?"

"Sure." His face twitches. I close the door a slit; he's staying on the porch.

"So, what'd you need from Dallas?" I ask from behind the cracked door.

"Nothing he can't help me with now."

That's when I get it. The guy needs money. Or drugs. Or both. He must be pretty bad off for him to come from New York to Tulsa. My hand clenches Dal's letter. "Sorry to waste your time."

He shrugs. "I was in the neighborhood." He leaves me with a wave and I watch him hop on his motorcycle and speed off down the street.

I look down at my hand. The letter's crumpled inside.

*

Ponyboy Curtis is shook up. I suppose I would be too should unannounced visitors come calling bringing with them ghosts of the past. He's debating whether or not to tell his brothers and after hovering near the phone for a few moments he goes into his bedroom and I follow.

Kneeling beside his bed, he pulls out a long cardboard box, unearthing a book. Getting closer, I see it's "Gone with the Wind". Pony runs his fingers down its spine. "Dallas Winston," he says in a monotone.

"Yes, Dallas Winston," I repeat. I go to the kid and sit beside him, fingering my hat. I take it off, reach out and touch his shoulder.

*

He falls beneath the streetlamps. Glowing and dying at the same time. The gun, a mere prop beside him. I kneel down and remove my hat. "Hello, Dallas."

He knows me; he's been familiar with me all his life. "Go to hell you bastard."

I cock my head. "Unoriginal, even for you Dallas."

"You took Johnny."

I grip his shoulder. "I'm taking you too."

His eyes glaze over. "No one can take me."

"I sincerely believe that."

"Bullshit."

"No bull about it. Although, I must say, the language you kids use these days is quite mediocre." He's nearly gone now. I keep my hand on his shoulder. "Tell me what you loved about life."

His eyes are dull but he manages to speak. "Johnny." There's no fear anymore, simply resolve.

"I thought so." I nod and put my hat back on. I wait for him to leave the world and then I stand up. Amid our conversation, the cops have come, a boy has fallen and the night ends.

*

I wake up on the floor of my bedroom. The ceiling stares down at me, a soft glow filtering in through the windows. It's either dusk or dawn; I can't remember. I turn my head and groan. My bones ache as I try to remember the strange dream I have just had. "Dally," I say to the ceiling.

Something's wet on my face. I touch my nose and find that it's bleeding. I wipe it away with my palms and sit up at the exact same moment the bedroom door opens. Soda sticks his head in.

"Pone?" His eyes adjust to seeing me on the floor. "Jesus," he says.

"What?" I rub my sore shoulder.

He gives me a smile. "Your hair is out of control." Darry walks up, taking this time to inspect me as well.

"You do really need a haircut," he agrees. Darry looks from me to Sodapop. He grins and leaves.

"Well, that was weird," Soda shrugs.

"It's because we look alike," I mutter. "It creeps Darry out." Soda raises an eyebrow.

Over the past year, I've been getting used to the shocked compliments and impressed stares whenever Soda and I go anywhere together. I don't see the comparison but apparently everyone else does. I've always wanted to look like my brother, but now getting mistaken for him is kind of eerie.

Self-conscious, I pat my hair down, which is sticking up in mussy spikes. I pull myself up, covertly wiping my hands on my jeans. Soda notices.

"You ok, kiddo?"

"Soda," I begin. "Some guy came by the house today."

His eyes narrow, thinking of Social Services. "Who?"

"Just some guy. I didn't get his name. Said he knew Dallas." I'm on my guard, watching for any flicker of recognition.

He's confused by this. "Really? Was he a friend?"

"No," I snort. "He thought Dal was still alive."

"Oh." Soda's eyes are pained. They widen. "Pone." He touches his nose.

My own is bleeding.

*

"Who punched you?"

"No one punched me."

"You sure about that?"

I roll my eyes. "Yes, Two-Bit, I'm sure I'd remember someone punching me."

"Are you sure?" He leans into me, eyes serious. I take a fresh tissue from him, keeping the wad I have in my right hand stuck tight against my nose. "Really sure?" I see the twitch of a smile on his lips. "Because… maybe they _spiked the punch_."

Steve groans as Two-Bit screams with laughter, tumbling off of the couch and hitting his knee on the coffee table. He rolls around on the floor quaking so hard I'm not sure if he's seizing or throwing a tantrum. I point at him. "Who gave him caffeine?"

Steve's shaking his head. "That was lame, Two-Bit. So lame that I'm calling you Keith until you redeem yourself." He takes sip of his beer.

Two-Bit stops laughing. "You wouldn't."

"He would. _Keith_," Soda adds, walking by and touching my shoulder. "It stop?"

I remove the tissue. "Yep."

Everything does.

*

The crazy boy rolling around on the ground laughing finally ceases and I wonder what makes him so cheery. If I had to think up bad jokes like that just to make people laugh I don't think I could go on. Keith's not such a bad name if you look on the bright side.

But alas, this is why I do what I do.

No false pretenses. Everything out in the open and soon to be done with.

Darry's recliner is quite comfy; I've taken a liking to it. I shouldn't but I give it a little rock. It squeaks for just a moment, the slightest sound but the boy hears it. He glances over at his brother's recliner and squints. However, his attention is soon diverted when the dark haired boy shakes up a can of beer and sprays Keith with it.

I finger the brim of my hat. Its brown felt is comforting, leaving me with a mission. Soon I'll be taking it off. Soon but not yet.

Ponyboy Curtis throws his tissue in the trash. He takes another look at the recliner and then his gaze wafts to his bedroom, the front door, anywhere but his present. I can see he wants to make a break for it, leaving behind the noise and his brother, to evaluate what has happened this afternoon. He wonders did he dream, pass out, imagine it all?

Well, with practice, he'll soon figure it out.

*

Thank you for all the reviews! Wowee wow! They definitely spurred me on. Please read and review once more.


	4. Chapter 4

IV. Lewis Jones

*

At the same time that the dark haired boy pulls out his knife I remove my hat. I approach the scene slowly: the handful of guys holding Ponyboy Curtis under the icy water. Like always, the leader will be going down.

That knife goes into Bob in one quick motion. His friends scatter in every direction as he and Ponyboy fall beside the fountain. Johnny's panting, frightened. I kneel between the two boys. My hands hover over Ponyboy but he's still in there. I won't be taking him tonight. This is the first time I meet him up close and it's painful that I can't concern myself with him. I have other bodies at hand.

I turn to Bob, gripping his shoulder. His eyes are shut, breath still. But I can still hear him. "Mom? Mom? Where are you? Where am_ I_?"

Then I'm seeing him as he leaves his body. This happens with some who die before I have a chance to speak with them. Although, I prefer to converse with them as they leave the earth. The dying tend to be more honest; the dead can still lie.

"Was it worth it?" I decide to ask. He's silent for a moment, evaluating question. He knows what I mean. Bob's just an evasive bastard. "Well?" We watch as Ponyboy comes to, twisting and turning in frightened confusion.

"It should have been him." His voice is angry.

"Not tonight." Standing up, I grab for my hat.

*

"Darry!" I hear the scream come from my mouth before I have time to stop it. Sitting up in bed, I mush my lips together, hoping my yell has fallen on deaf ears.

Bob.

Bob was in my dream tonight. It was all too real, like watching my life in continuous rewind.

A light flips on down the hall. I groan and resist the urge to burrow under the covers and fake sleep. The door opens. "Pone?"

Darry stands there wearing a t-shirt and jeans. He fell asleep in his clothes again, probably on the couch. He's been doing that a lot lately. Like me, he seems to be having issues sleeping.

"What's wrong?" He tries to stifle a yawn.

"Sorry. Must've been dreaming."

Darry gives me a sympathetic look. "'Bout what?"

"Can't remember." As I say this, sudden warmth fills my nose. "Shoot," I say scrambling across the bed and jumping out, smacking Darry on the shin in my haste to make it to the bathroom.

"What's the hurry, Pone?" Darry calls after me, confused.

"You know, when nature calls…" I try and joke, making it to the bathroom in enough time to catch the tiny drops of blood beading down from my nose.

It's the second time in two weeks I've dreamed about someone who's died in vivid detail. And maybe it's the stress or that the anniversary of their deaths is coming up but I don't like the pattern.

I'm sure it's probably a normal thing to remember Johnny, Dallas and even Bob but I thought the fear was behind me. Behind all of us.

I shiver. It's cold.

*

"Pony…stop wiggling. I'm gonna cut you."

"Sorry, Dar." I stifle a giggle. "Tell _him_," I nod at Two-Bit, "to stop making me laugh."

"Keith!" Darry barks. "Leave him alone." Darry waves the scissors at Two-Bit who's doing cartwheels and back flips on the front lawn. It's a Saturday and this combined with the fact that it's summer and the guys all have the day off, leaves us all a bit giddy.

Two-Bit abruptly stops a cartwheel in the middle of the routine and falls on his face. "Aw, not you too Darry!" Steve and Sodapop are working on Darry's truck, their faces obscured by the open hood, but their laughter floats throughout the yard.

I can't see Darry's face because he's behind me trimming my hair but I feel him smile. "It's good for you, Keith. Now that you have a job you can use a little professionalism."

"I work at a bar!" Two-Bit wails. "A nickname is all I got!"

This time it's Darry who laughs and I feel the blade whisk a bit too close to my ear. "Darry!" I jump out of my seat, turning around to face him as I lean against the railing. "You almost Van Gogh'd me."

"Is that really a word?" Darry raises a doubtful eyebrow but then lowers his voice. "I'm sorry kiddo."

I raise my own eyebrow and cross my arms.

Darry sighs. "Really sorry." Darry pats the kitchen chair we've dragged out on the porch. "C'mon, sit back down, I'm almost done."

I grin at him. "Not too short." My heart suddenly sinks, realizing I've said these exact same words to Johnny when we were in Windrixville. I slump in the chair, wishing this was over and done with. I stare out across the yard into the yellow sun and think about my dream.

_He turns to Bob, gripping his shoulder. Bob's eyes are shut, breath still. But he can still hear him. "Mom? Mom? Where are you? Where am I?" _

_Then he sees Bob as he leaves his body. This happens with some who die before he has a chance to speak with them. Although, he prefers to converse with them as they leave the earth. The dying tend to be more honest; the dead can still lie._

"I'm done." The scissors clatter against the table and I'm gently pulled back to reality, without a chance to wonder who _he_ is.

Darry touches my shoulder. "How about we go to a movie tonight, kiddo? We haven't done anything in a while."

Soda walks up, squinting at me. "You cut it too short, Dar."

*

Drive-in theaters are funny contraptions. You have your choice between sitting in the car or the rows of seats lining the ground. The people are loud, the food bad and the movie usually second rate. A better option would be the privacy of one's own home. But that's just me. My opinion's not wanted.

Two of the boys are anxious. Two-Bit keeps taking nervous glances at Ponyboy who can't stop fidgeting. They're on the same level; the last time they were here their night didn't go exactly as planned.

Darry seems interested enough in the movie. He is glad to spend this time with his brothers – he has been working too much lately and is trying to make up for it. What he's really hoping for is a possible promotion that he may be up for, which would mean more pay with less work. I'm crossing my fingers for him.

Soda's doing his best to remain still but every once in a while he'll erupt with an "I can't believe he's doing that!" or my personal favorite "He's right behind you!" Clearly, the horror movie does not prove believable for Sodapop Curtis.

Darry gives Ponyboy a dollar to get a soda and popcorn. Relieved to be excused, the kid nearly runs toward the concessions.

I check my watch and stand up. It's time. The hat's coming off.

*

The line is long but I'm in no hurry. A woman ahead of me is arguing with the guy taking her order. She wants Coke when they only have Pepsi.

Darry surprised us all by saying he wanted to see a horror movie and so far all he's got is Soda embarrassing the crap out of him. Maybe now he'll understand why Soda doesn't attend movies or churches.

A familiar face runs past the chain-link fence separating the concessions stand from the street. I hesitate a mere second and then leave behind my spot in line, slipping through the fence. The figure's a few feet away from me, turning down the alley.

It's the guy who knew Dallas. I'm surprised he's still in town. Curiosity gets the better of me and I follow him. I pause by the brick wall separating the alley from the street and glance up at the sky. The movie screen lights up the street and though I can't hear what she's saying it looks like the secondary character is about to meet her maker.

Turning my attention back to the guy, I see that another man has joined him. "I need to score," Dally's friend says.

"Idiot," I say under my breath, knowing that I really need to be leaving right now.

"You got my money?" the Man asks.

"Not yet. Not yet but I will."

The Man sticks his hand in his pocket. "I gave you that smack on good faith my friend. I don't have very much left."

Something passes me by and I shiver, darting out of the way. Then I see it coming and I cover my mouth with one hand, pressing myself back into the shadows. I should shut my eyes but I can't. Without giving the Guy a chance to respond, the Man is sticking a blade deep into the Guy's side. The Guy drops to the ground, his eyes stunned.

The Man gives him a swift kick and then runs out of the alley.

I watch a moment more and then follow suit, running back to the drive-in.

*

I had hoped Ponyboy's curiosity would perhaps lead him down the alleyway so that I could feel what he was experiencing but no dice. He's clumsy and naïve but he's not plain stupid. I remove my hand from Dallas's friend –Lewis Jones – and replace my hat.

What bothers me and what I need from Ponyboy is for him to tell me why he's different because I don't know this. I make it my business to know everything about my job, and with Pony's strange knack for trouble, it isn't making it any easier. It's purely my own need for knowledge but I love a good hypothesis and would hate to disappoint myself by not trying it out.

Lewis tested my theory that Ponyboy Curtis has a strange affinity for being surrounded by death. I'm not sure if it means anything yet, hence my inappropriate tailing of the kid. The one thing I do know is that every time I've received a "memo" regarding Ponyboy it's vague, cloudy. He could or could not make it; will fight or will not. Most importantly, the memo tells me that I don't have all the power with relation to this one child. It's happened before with a few folks but I've never had the chance to explain why.

I do now.

I'm going to test Ponyboy and see what he delivers.

*

Disclaimer: The Outsiders are the property of SE Hinton.

Please read and review.


	5. Chapter 5

I own no one. Brief cursing in this chapter.

V. Green

*

"Pony?" Soda asks. "Are you sure you're feeling ok?"

I can feel Darry watching me out of the corner of his eye. "Let me know if you need me to pull the truck over."

I shake my head. "I'm fine. I feel better." A lot better now that I'm away from the drive-in. After seeing the Guy get knifed I ran back to the concession stand, cashed in Darry's dollar for change and called the fuzz from a pay phone.

"A guy's been stabbed in the alley," I said, panicked. I gave the address and hung up without leaving my name. Getting involved with the cops wasn't something I wanted to do again, plus we didn't need social services looking into this. They'd just use it as an excuse that I was unsupervised or some other BS.

I ran back to Darry, clutching my stomach, hoping to look pitiful. "I'm going to throw up." Which wasn't far from a lie; I needed to get away from there. My hands couldn't stop shaking.

Now in the comfort of my brothers and the truck I can finally relax. Soda throws an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. "Thanks for getting me out of the movie, kiddo," he whispers.

"Anytime, Soda." I shut my eyes, praying I don't dream tonight.

*

I don't.

*

One week later, I wake up to the sound of the wind rushing through the trees. Soda's left the window open again. Despite the breeze, it's still hot. I cross the room, shut it and decide to use the bathroom since I'm up.

One of the light bulbs in the bathroom is burnt out, casting the small room in a greenish-glow. Turning the faucet on, I begin to wash the sweat from my face. All of a sudden, I'm cold. Icy. I feel the grip of fingers wrap around my shoulder and my nose begins to bleed.

*

The only way I can interact with the living is through dreaming, the unconscious, whatever you like to call it. In the real world, Ponyboy Curtis is passed out on his bathroom floor. In my world, I'm sitting in Darry's recliner with Ponyboy across from me on the couch.

"Hello," I say, trying not to show my enthusiasm.

"Uh, hi." He looks around the black room. "Who're you?"

"Everett." The answer doesn't placate him; he's still tense.

"Are you one of Dally's friend's too?" His voice carries a tinge of annoyance. "Because I don't really care what you want."

My, my, my. So stubborn. "I knew Dally," I reply. "But I wasn't his friend."

"Oh." His eyes are so big and green in the darkness they shine like fat jewels. "What do you want then?"

"I'm here because you have something I need."

Pony shifts his weight, wishing for a smoke. "Cigarette?" Surprised, he blinks and then nods. I toss him some smokes, he lights up and inhales. A bit of trust is earned and I see Pony relax his guard. "So," I continue. "As you asked before, what I need are answers."

"Ok." Pony shrugs. "But I don't know what you think—"

I decide to interrupt. "You know you're lucky don't you?" He's taken aback but I keep going. "You get out of messes and save the day and all types of heroic and idiotic acts combined." I rub a finger against the brim of my fedora. "I want to see you."

He's upset now, wanting to leave. "See me what? I don't know what you're talking about. What do you want?"

I smile. "Get in trouble. I give you permission. Do something dangerous, something other people have slim chances of surviving. You won't die." And he won't. His_ next _memo is clear.

His jaw is jumping, his young face petrified but very angry. "Go to hell." He leaves the house.

I check my watch, wondering if he'll heed this dream. If he does, then he believes. He'll trust me and I'll have room to play.

*

"Pony? Ponyboy?" Coolness touches my face.

I twitch and then like Frankenstein, rise up stiffly. My hands fly out, grasping at the air. "What happened?" My eyes focus on the face in my vision.

Darry kneels over me, a washrag in his hand. His face is green. "I was hoping you could tell me that."

Taking in my surroundings, I find myself sitting on the grimy bathroom floor. The light flickers above us. "I don't know. I came in here to use the bathroom and then…" I touch my face, feeling the dried blood.

Darry sighs, sitting down next to me. "I think you passed out." He places a hand on the back of my neck, his palm is cool. "You're lucky you didn't hit your head on the sink or the tub." Darry gives me the dishrag and I scrub the blood away.

"Yeah," I agree.

Grunting, Darry hauls himself up and then holds a hand down to me, gently setting me on my feet. "Go back to bed, Ponyboy. We'll talk in the morning."

*

Ponyboy acts like he's a murderer on the witness stand the way his brothers grill him. Squirming, stuttering, eye rolling, all these various motions he goes through when getting questioned about his late night unconsciousness.

I feel pretty low for throwing the boy under the bus like I did but there's no other way around it. I hadn't counted on his brother finding him. All I can promise is that the next time I'll try and make it less conspicuous.

"You feel okay today?" Soda asks, pouring them both a bowl of cereal. Darry drinks his coffee, standing like a sentry over his brothers.

Pony gives a shrug. "I felt okay _yesterday_. I'm _fine_. Nothing's wrong. It's the heat." _Leave me alone_, he wants to add, but decides this isn't the best tactic to get them off his back. He takes a big bite of cereal, filling up his mouth so he can't answer any more questions.

Soda turns around to converse silently with Darry. Darry's torn. It's radiating out from him. He knows something is wrong before it actually is. He just can't place it. "If it happens again," Darry says, "You're going to the doctor."

Pony's green eyes narrow.

*

"What're you doing tonight, Pone?" Soda tightens the lug nut one last time and sits back on his heels. "Me and Steve got to work until 7, then we're going out to Benny's." Benny's is a sleazy bar on the outskirts of town. Soda and Steve like it because no one knows who they are and they can hustle the regulars at poker.

"Might go to the library," I say, feeling like a loser. Even Darry has a date tonight and Two-Bit's working until midnight.

Steve takes off his safety goggles. "Don't get too crazy there, kid. You might get a paper cut or something."

"Aw, you're just jealous, Stevie," Soda says, giving me a grin. "It ain't my fault my little brother got all the brains."

"Is that what we're calling them these days?" Steve mutters, rearranging the goggles and flicking on his blowtorch. Sparks fly out from the metal he's welding, lighting up the DX.

"Go out tonight, Pone." Soda dries his hands on a towel and then snaps me on the arm with it. "Go out and have some fun, huh?"

*

The night is muggy and alive with energy. I inhale the air. So many lives. The deserted road is buzzing with cars and kids, drinking, laughing, smoking. Only one looks out of place: Ponyboy Curtis. This must mean he's listening to me. I get closer.

*

I don't think Soda would take this as "having fun" seeing as how I'm hanging around with Curly Shepard at drag races but something propelled me to give the JD a call. I haven't seen him for six months and time hasn't changed him. He's still a thug.

A guy from my track team shoots me a glance. "Hey Curtis. Out and about?" He wraps an arm around his girlfriend and takes off.

"Hey Pat." The cigarette is calming in my hand. I can't shake this feeling that I should be doing something. I'm anxious, I want in on the action. A black souped-up Dodge races by me, ready for racing.

"Yo Curtis!" Curly and his friend Polly trudge in my direction, chugging beers. I only know Polly through Tim; what he's doing hanging around with Curly is anyone's guess. His lank blond hair looks like it hasn't been washed in years and he's wearing a fedora with a white feather.

With a shock, the dream encapsulates me and I drop my smoke. The fedora's familiar; the character in my dream had been wearing one.

Curly punches my arm. "Curtis. Glad you called. You know Polly." Polly tips his hat, trying to be suave. He casts a shadow over me. "You gonna race tonight?"

"I ain't got a car, Curly." I smile, thinking of how I'd look racing Darry's pickup.

"Well, then….wanna be a wingman?"

I'm about to say no when I do the opposite. I nod. My insides jump in excitement and I wonder what the hell I'm doing. _Get in trouble. Do something dangerous…_

Curly passes me a beer. "Yeah, man. I knew you were up for it!" His ugly face breaks into a grin as he clasps Polly on the shoulder. "You can ride with Polly. He's got a 'Vette."

*

It's the last race of the evening. I'm not known to be nervous but I can't help myself as I think of the possible ways this could turn out wrong. I shouldn't be worried; after all, I'll win either way.

Ponyboy climbs into the passenger side next to Hector Polly. Polly sways as he jumps into the driver's seat. I fold my hands together. He's drunk. I look at my memo and tuck it away.

There's no death here tonight. But I won't be disappointed by the outcome.

*

First things off, there's no seatbelt. Polly has one but the one on my side has been torn clear away. Polly puts the key in the ignition. "Your older brother's a good man."

Frowning, I say, "Thanks" and wonder where that came from.

We're racing my teammate Pat. As irony would have it, he has a green Mustang. "There's no way I'm losing to a Soc Mobile," Polly growls, starting up his car and revving the engine.

Even though we know them by now, Curly's screaming the rules at us through the open windows, his narration painful and overdone. "On the count of three you'll go. Race down the mile to the ditch. Stop in front of the two trees that make an X. First one there wins. Got it?"

I fold my hand over my eyes. "Jeez," I mutter. "Curly sounds like a bad episode of _Dragnet_."

Pat's mustang roars to life, Curly shouts "Three!" and then we're off. The cars scream down the dirt road, gravel and dust flying up in small bursts.

The car zigzags under Polly's guidance. "Oh shit!" But I laugh, my arms bracing myself against the dash. The rush is incredible. The car's at 75 MPH and not stopping. It's only when I smell the alcohol on Polly's breath that I realize this is probably not the most well thought out idea.

The ditch is fast coming into view but Polly shows no hint of slowing. "Hey, um, maybe you should—"

The car slams into the trees before I can finish my sentence.

*

The car's a crumpled piece of metal, smoking under the night stars. Kids stand to the side, horrified about what has just happened. "Really?" I ask no one in particular. "You kids drink and race at speeds over 50 miles per hour and not expect this to happen?" Today's teens aren't all that brainy.

However, I give Ponyboy Curtis a pass. I practically dared him. My influence is quite powerful when it wants to be.

Polly emerges, wailing like a banshee. Clawing at the driver side door, he manages to get it open before landing on the ground. Writhing on his back, he keeps screaming: "My knee! My fucking knee!" A few of his meathead buddies dash over, doing what they can to console him. If he only knew how lucky he was his seatbelt held.

I raise a brow at Curly Shepard who is standing frozen near the trunk of the car. He's panicking, thinking he's killed Ponyboy Curtis and that Darry and his brother are going to tan his hide. "Don't flatter yourself," I say, passing him by. "That's my job."

Then just to show him what I can do, I graze his shoulder. Curly jumps a mile wide and falls on his ass in the dirt. "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…"

Pat, the one in the group who has any sense, is trying to pry Pony's passenger side door open. "C'mon!" he screams. "Help me here!" Three other boys join him and as they pull away the door, Ponyboy Curtis rolls out. Like a cat, he lands right side up, on all four limbs, looking amazed and fearful. Pat staggers back. "Goddamn."

The right side of Pony's face is coated in blood. He's slammed it against the dashboard due to no seatbelt. He's going to have a severe headache in the morning not to mention a black eye.

I smile. I've never been so glad to see someone live.

*

Pardon any typos. Please review.


	6. Chapter 6

I own no one (minus dear Everett). SE Hinton has the rest.

Pardon typos and language.

Please review.

*

VI. Wonderful

I had to leave Ponyboy Curtis an hour ago to take care of some business but now I'm back and I'm finding he's still not home. Pony strikes me as the type to avoid the hospital so I gather he's working on his excuse.

I shouldn't concern myself with this one human but can't give it up yet. Besides he's research.

I recount the last human who infatuated me: Marie Antoinette. Silly Marie. She wasn't stupid as France claimed her to be but in the end could have done a lot more to avoid losing her head.

Alas, I digress.

I check my watch. It's only 11:00. Darry Curtis and Keith Mathews are "shooting the shit", as they say these days, on the front porch. Keith, getting off early from work, has brought over a twelve pack and between the two of them have done a fair amount of damage.

"She was…interesting," Darry says, telling Keith about his date.

Two-Bit takes a swig of beer and points at his friend. "Interesting equals crazy." Darry starts to protest but Two-Bit interrupts. "How would you have described Sylvia?"

Darry hesitates and then says, "Interesting."

"Exactly. Remember? She set Dal's car on fire." He swirls his index finger in circles around his temple. "Crazy."

"_That_, I do remember." Darry flips a bottle cap over the porch railing. It lands in the bushes below.

"So, what'd this one do?" Darry keeps drinking and Two-Bit chortles. "C'mon. You can't leave it there. You gotta tell me. I won't tell a soul."

"Right," Darry snorts. "But I'll tell you anyways." His eyes are bright; he's semi-buzzed – a rare feat for Darry. "She brought her dog along on the date." Two-Bit waits for it and then Darry says, "She let it eat at the table."

"Oh hoo hoo!" Two-Bit rolls with laughter. Darry joins in.

"Honestly," Darry laughs. "I was more attracted to her dog."

Unable to catch his breath, Two-Bit doubles over in his chair. "Oh man," he wheezes. "Never thought I'd hear you say something like that." Their laughter carries in the night breeze.

A car pulls up to the curb— the green Mustang from the drag race. Pat must be giving Ponyboy a ride home. Pony's all shadows as he climbs out, says goodbye and slams the door shut. Pat squeals off down the street, glad he's not Ponyboy Curtis right now.

"Hey, hey. Look who's home on time," Two-Bit announces as Ponyboy crosses the yard. He shuffles his feet to disguise the slight limp he's received tonight.

Pony's cautious footsteps pause at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the porch. "Hey guys." His voice is unsure, flat; he hadn't counted on anyone being home or up.

"Hey kiddo. Soda told me you went out." Darry leans back in his chair. "You have a good time?"

Ponyboy glances up at the porch light which will soon reveal all. He's already made up his mind to tell most of the truth, he's just taking his sweet time doing it. I cross the porch and rest my elbows on the railing, ready for a show.

"Not really."

"Why not?"

"Dar…" Pony puts one foot on the step. "I kind of…umm…got into a car accident."

Darry shakes his head as if he has water in his ears. "You what?" Slowly, Pony creeps up the stairs, flinching the entire time. Darry's eyes widen. Two-Bit gawks.

I give Darry credit – the man moves fast. He's at his brother before I can blink. "Jesus Christ! What the _hell_? Are you hurt?" He doesn't know where to begin. Darry touches the side of Pony's skull, sucking in a harsh breath at his black eye and bloody scalp.

Pony's nodding. "I'm okay, Darry." He tried to clean up the worst of the damage but it's still evident he took a beating. Pony tries to smile. "Just a headache."

"How'd this happen? _What_ _happened_?" Darry's trying hard to stay calm.

This is where the truth deviates. "I was driving with some friends. They hit a tree. I didn't have my seatbelt on." Ponyboy has the grace to hang his head.

"Well, my buzz is officially gone." Two-Bit tosses a beer over the railing, stands up and goes inside.

Darry's ghost pale. I can feel him going over the mental images in his mind: _Ponyboy through the windshield, Ponyboy in the gutter, Ponyboy splattered on the sidewalk…_

Darry wraps his arms around his brother, ingraining Pony's heartbeat into him. "You scare the hell out of me."

If he only knew.

*

"You can holler all you want," Darry says. "That ain't gonna help you none."

"Two-Bit."

My friend won't meet my eyes. "To be fair, Darry did give you a choice."

I slump into the couch, crossing my arms. "Traitor." Two-Bit yawns.

Darry watches me from his recliner. His face is a mess of anger and pain. "Don't you dare give me that look. You're gonna tough it out until morning or you're going to the hospital now."

I had almost thought I was in the clear; if you get hurt enough you can weasel out of anything. However, I made the mistake of refusing the hospital flat out. "If I was gonna die that would've happened already," I said on the porch, giving a smirk.

Boy howdy, I've never seen Darry yell so much.

Darry won't let me sleep until at least until six hours have passed which – after an hour of arguing and cleaning up – puts me at 6 am. Apparently, my previous concussion is still fresh in his mind; either that or it's some sort of sick, twisted revenge.

I play my ace. "You're gonna be tired tomorrow."

Darry doesn't blink. "I'll call in."

I slump even lower, defeated, sorely doubting that Darry will give in and fall asleep. Two-Bit's no help either. He's exuding the signs and symptoms of concussions and potential pros and cons of going to the hospital.

"Pro," he says, ignoring Darry's angry stare. "They give the kid painkillers – bonus for me. Con, we get in a car accident on the way there. Sheer parody."

"Irony," I correct him, earning my own angry stare from my brother.

"This isn't funny." Darry sighs. "You could have a head injury, Pone. I'm not taking any chances." When I don't answer he smacks his palm on the coffee table. "You could have died."

"I know," I mumble. "But I didn't."

"That doesn't matter. You could _have_."

_You won't die._

"Dar, I _won't_."

Frustrated, Darry runs a hand through his hair, his face white. "Goddamn it, Pony!"

"C'mon, Dar! It was a car _accident_; it's not like I did it on purp—"

When I see Darry's face I know I've said the wrong thing. I know why he's this upset and angry. I didn't think how much this would affect him; I had forgotten about it myself. In fact, it's been a while since I thought about my parents. "Shit, Dar." I wince. "I'm sorry."

Darry's mouth drops but the front door opens before he can get anything out. No one says a thing as Soda enters. Darry is staring at me, I'm staring at the floor, ashamed, while Two-Bit's staring into his glass of Tang.

"Ummm…" I hear Soda say in a soft voice. "Can someone tell me what the hell happened to Ponyboy?"

"Ask your brother." Darry's voice carries no emotion.

"Minor car accident. Very minor." I pinch my fingers together hoping to illustrate this.

Soda's eyes widen as he looks at Darry, silently asking _Really? _Darry nods and Soda looks as if both his legs are going to go out. He places a hand against the doorframe. "Glory, Ponyboy…I told you to go out and have fun tonight, not come home with a broken face. Jesus."

The light overhead Darry flickers. I eye it curiously, feeling the slight chill that echoes down my spine. Darry notices me shiver. "Are you cold?"

"No. Just tired." I yawn pointedly.

"Nice try, Pone. Nice try."

*

He did it. He listened to me.

Pony squints into the light above Darry. He looks right at me and I raise an eyebrow, touching my fedora. His shiver makes me shiver. The middle brother, the one who's so handsome, sits beside him, evaluating Pony's face. His concern is touching, albeit intense. Darry doesn't know what to make of this, why he's this upset. Soda's been in a car accident before – last year in fact. He and I brushed elbows but nothing much came of it. Darry wasn't this worked up; he wonders why this time is different.

I ache, the excitement so palpable I can hardly control myself. It's so very hard to restrain my hands from finding Ponyboy Curtis's shoulder and dropping him in with me. I want to talk with him, replay the moment in his mind when he realized that I hold the truth. Rehash the details and laugh about that fool Curly Shepard.

But I don't. I had promised myself – and the boy – that I'd find the right moments for this. Dropping him like a sack of potatoes after the car accident wouldn't necessarily lessen his brother's fears. They'd take him to the hospital and he'd be out of commission for who knows how long.

I watch him, bargaining with his brother's, bantering with Keith. I've made a good pick. He's tough, that one. Rolling out of the car with no permanent injuries and not asking why. Not asking questions until he knows the answers. It's enough to unnerve most…men.

It's clear to me now. Ponyboy Curtis trusts me and I him. He can bear my shadow, unafraid, feeling it in its entirety. What a wonderful world.

*

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	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: SE Hinton owns the Outsiders.

Please review. Thanks for all the great comments. Truly appreciated.

VII. Q&A with Everett and Ponyboy Curtis

*

"Hot dogs?"

"Check."

"What about the beer?"

"It's right here, Two-it." I point into the grocery cart. "Relax, it didn't run off."

Two-Bit wipes invisible sweat from his brow. "Praise ye lord." He eyes the pile of food in the cart. "We can't let Soda cook again this year. There's no way I'm eating charred burgers after buying this spread."

I smile, steering the cart down the bread aisle. "Oh, you're actually chipping in?"

"Pone, Ponyboy, kiddo…I work now. I roll in the dough. I'm a big spender." He ruffles my hair and sprints down the aisle only to knock into a display. The display wobbles and then crashes onto the ground, hamburger buns spilling everywhere. "Well, shit," he says, staring at the buns.

My face goes red as two old women shoot us nasty looks. "At least it's not glass," Two-Bit tells them, grabbing my elbow and propelling me and the cart down the next aisle. I barely have enough time to grab a package of hamburger buns off the floor.

We're now in the chip aisle. Two-Bit rifles around in the cart, shoving food in all directions. "Think we got enough stuff?"

"Shoot, more than enough. I don't know who Darry thinks is coming over. It's just us."

Tomorrow's the Fourth of July and Darry wants to have a BBQ. He couldn't get off work in time to go grocery shopping so Two-Bit volunteered to keep me company. Two-Bit pounds my back. "We're growing boys. We need all the nutrition we can get."

"Beer counts as nutrients?" Deliberating between a bag of corn chips or potato chips, I finally give in and get both, tossing them in the cart.

"Hell, yes. It counts as many things, Pone. Nutrition, salvation, education…"

I stop in my tracks. "Addiction…"

Two-Bit raises an eyebrow, following my gaze. A small dark-haired woman is choosing a bottle of the cheapest vodka while balancing a cigarette in her mouth. I feel my friend tense. "Kid, come on…" he says. He takes a few steps in the opposite direction, pausing to wait for me.

I'm turning to go with him when Johnny's mom – Martha Cade – looks up. She sees me. I'm not sure if she smiles or grimaces, but either way she's doing something unpleasant with her mouth. She puts the vodka back on the shelf and walks over.

"Lookit who's here."

"Hi, Mrs. Cade."

I haven't seen Johnny's mom since his funeral and even then I didn't see much of her. She and Mr. Cade had screamed at each other before the service took place and left right after. "I hate her," I told Soda, watching them drive away.

"No you don't," he said, trying to be comforting. But I meant what I said then and I still do. I hate Martha Cade because she hasn't changed. She didn't use what happened to Johnny to clean up and get sober or even just be nicer person. She wasted her chance. There aren't many people I hate in this world, but she's on my list.

She snorts. "I see you still got your manners." Her dark eyes make their way over to Two-Bit who's standing in the middle of the aisle looking lost. She makes a _tsking_ noise. "And you're still taking up with this clown. You and him got my Johnny into a whole world of trouble."

"Funny," Two-Bit snaps. "I'd say the same about you." He puts a hand on my shoulder. "Let's go, kid." He shoves me away and I let him. Mrs. Cade watches us go and then goes back to choosing her vodka.

Ten minutes later we're in the truck and Two-Bit's knuckles are clenched around the steering wheel. He keeps swallowing hard. "Don't you listen to her, Pone," Two-Bit says. "You were the best thing that ever happened to Johnny. You were _good_ for him."

"So were you," I reassure him. It's easy to see that Two-Bit's finding fault with himself.

He glances over at me. "Kid…sometimes it feels like it happened yesterday. Sometimes," he swallows again. "Sometimes it does feel like our fault."

I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes. "Yeah. It does."

*

Two-Bit and I say very little when we get back to the house. We unpack the groceries and then he takes off, saying he'll see all of us tomorrow for the festivities. But his smile is dull.

As soon as it's late enough to pass for a feasible bedtime, I excuse myself. Soda and Steve try and talk me into staying for the poker game. They know something is off since Two-Bit was all doom and gloom and I've been following suit. But they don't say anything, which I'm thankful for.

*

It's a funny thing when you know you're dreaming. Senses sharpened but dull; conscious and unconscious blended. I should wake myself up, scream myself hoarse for Darry but I can't. I hang onto the dream.

The woman writhes on the thin cot, frail arms reaching heavenward. Hair is plastered across her face. I can't make out who she is. White ghosts stand above her, holding something she wants. "No," she moans. "Please god, no."

She's crying that much I know. "Oh my god," she wails. "Oh my god!" The woman scares me. Then she screams and I scream and lights flood the room.

*

There's something I've missed. I've arrived to find Ponyboy Curtis shouting his lungs out while his jumbled brothers hover above him. This is not my vision that I've given him. It's his but I was able to see it as well. It was familiar to me but why I cannot recall.

I pace the small bedroom. I do not like surprises. I may be in charge of death but fate has her own plan. She's the one who throws a wrench in many of my supposed-deaths. And as fate knows, I'm not a fan of her. We've often butted heads but I believe I always have the upper hand.

I glance at the family. Ponyboy is holding his hand over his mouth. He keeps saying, "Oh my god," over and over again.

Soda kneels beside him on the bed. "What'd happen? What'd you dream?"

"Nothing," Pony whispers. The oldest brother stands in the corner, wondering if he will, after all, have to take Pony to the doctor again. Pony will hate him. It's a lose-lose either way.

"Oh my god," Pony repeats.

I sigh. I hate that word – and it's not why you think. People use it flippantly without concern for what it means.

"Oh my god."

I decide to put a stop to this. At the exact moment that Darry Curtis commands, "Wake up, Pony!" I touch the light switch. The lamp near Ponyboy Curtis flickers. He draws back, eyes wide. Finally, he looks over at Darry. "Thanks."

I tip my hat. "You're welcome."

*

"En guarde!" Two-Bit screeches, running through the back door, brandishing a spatula. Soda is soon to follow, holding a long serving spoon. Before I can get out of the way, Soda whacks Two-Bit in the back of the legs and Two-Bit drops to the floor, sliding into the fridge.

Wincing at the clang of metal on bone, I spill the bowl of chips. They land like confetti on top of Two-Bit. I look down at him. He picks a chip off his chest and eats it. "Hey kid."

"Hey, Two-Bit." I help him up and then turn to my brother. "Soda, you're not cooking are you?"

Soda laughs. "We're dueling for the grill."

"Well, while you two jackasses are running around the house," Darry says, entering the kitchen, "Steve's taking over the job." He gives me a relieved smile. I nod, remembering the last disaster. Not only had the burgers been inedible due to the charcoal and grass on them, but Soda had ended up spilling lighter fluid on one of my books that had been lying around on the porch. When I went to light a cigarette while reading a flame exploded out of my book.

"So much for independence," Soda says with a grin. "Football while we wait?" he asks Darry.

Darry unveils a football from behind his back. "Only if you want to take a beating…"

Two-Bit flexes his biceps. "Anytime Superman." While Darry's attention is focused on Two-Bit, Soda reaches out and grabs the football. He fakes a pass to Two-Bit and then dashes outside. The screen door clatters again as Two-Bit follows.

Darry rolls his eyes. "I swear, give them a day off work and a beer and they're nuts."

"Make that four beers." I pick up the empty chip bowl. "'Sides, you could take lessons." To prove my point, Darry opens the fridge and cracks a beer of his own. He takes a drink.

"You up for playing?"

I gesture at the chip-littered floor. "I'll clean up and then be out."

Darry shrugs. "That can wait."

"What? Are you feeling ok?" I pretend to stumble back against the counter.

"Ha. Ha. Very funny." Darry looks both annoyed and amused at his hard-ass reputation that he's worked so hard to build. Apparently, a relaxed Darry is confusing for both of us to trust. He leaves and I go into the basement to find the broom.

*

Ponyboy's rummaging in the corner when I approach. I'd prefer not to do this in the basement as it's musty and smells like gym socks but I shall cope. I place a hand on his shoulder.

*

Youngness fills his face. I blink, unaccustomed to being caught off guard. "Hello," I say.

He's unsure. "Everett?"

I stretch my legs from Darry's recliner. "Correct." Ponyboy's sitting in the middle of the floor, his hair mussed, his eyes brighter than ever. "You listened to me," I point out. "That's very good."

"Yeah…you said I wouldn't die." He frowns, remembering. "That was weird."

"Correct again."

Ponyboy runs a hand through his hair, paling. "But…how did you know that? Who are you?" I keep quiet, letting him put the pieces together. "No," Pony says finally. "I don't believe any of this."

I fold my hands together. "Why not?"

"Because…this is a dream. It's…not…"

"Real?" I put in. "Oh, but it is. Haven't you been dreaming – _seeing_ – your friends? You listened to me the other day. You took a chance and survived." Pony's shaking his head. "Your memo was very clear, no deliberating that. It's not something to be afraid of. In fact, we can do it again if you like. Roll the dice." I rub the brim of my hat.

He's so still I wonder if he's breathing. Finally he says, "Tell me what happens to me."

"Can't do that. Against the rules."

"Do you always follow the rules?" he snaps.

My hand freezes on my hat. Very slowly I remove it. A memory jumps inside. "Very much so." _Liar_, his gaze says. And he's right.

"So I die." He says this with as much emotion as a person asking for someone to pass the salt.

"No. Not yet," I promise. "You will _one_ day. You were supposed to at your birthday a few weeks ago but you were fortunate." He doesn't smile so I continue on. "But not in the immediate month." This is the truth; I see his month and his memo and while dangerous they're both in the clear.

His voice is very small. "Well, um…do you think I'm going to die in the near future? Because…that would…Darry and Soda they'd…" He swallows, looking more broken up about his brothers' feelings than his own possible death. Love is a curious thing.

"I can't be sure."

"Swell," he mutters, standing up. Ponyboy backs up into the black. I shout after him.

"Haven't you wondered why you're lucky? Why you _live_?"

He's gone for a minute, and then he's striding back to the center of the room. He cannot leave unless I let him. When I see his face, I know I've hit a nerve. He thinks about it all the time – why he's lucky, why he lives and – Darry's favorite – why he just doesn't use his head.

"Don't _you_ know? You're death."

This upsets me; I'm not omnipotent, I just do my job. I wave a finger in his face. "No, no, no. That's why I'm here. You have to show me the _how_, the _why_…because I don't know either. You have an influence that's rare."

Crestfallen, he sits back down on the floor. "I don't want an influence. I'm sick of this." His eyes blaze. "I don't want you here. You killed my parents. Johnny. Dal."

I stand up as well, frustrated that the conversation is going poorly. I don't want the child to think me a murderer. "I did not _kill_ them. I merely took them. I'm a conduit."

"You sure have a lot of excuses for being dead."

I sit back down in Darry's recliner, exhausted. I'm beginning to understand how Ponyboy's brothers feel when he argues with them. But I'm not his brothers. I can't lecture him, only threaten. I stroke my hat. "I'm not leaving until you give me what I want."

"I don't know how to give it to you. I don't want to."

"I'll wait. I have all the time in the world."

He smirks. "I bet you do."

*

I hope this story is not dragging. Please review. Pardon any typos.


	8. Chapter 8

SE Hinton owns the Outsiders.

Please read and review. You guys rock.

Warning for cursing.

VIII. Iris

*

It's July 8th when it happens. Only four days after our conversation Ponyboy Curtis has another close call.

Some of Darry's friends from work set up a baseball game on the abandoned field a few miles out of town. They need more players so Darry winds up talking Curly and Tim Shepard to join, as well as the usual suspects: Ponyboy, Sodapop, Steve and Two-Bit. They're a few players short but that doesn't stop them.

I walk the rusted bleachers, watching from the stands, shaking my head. People and their hobbies.

Pony's anxious to play; he wants to flex his running muscles. Pretty much everyone there knows they won't have a chance to stop him when he's flying around the bases. He and Two-Bit sit in the dugout, heads bent low, talking about the 4th. Two-Bit's the one who found Ponyboy coming to. Ponyboy managed to weasel a vow of silence from his friend. "It's nothing," he told Two-Bit. "Don't tell Darry." Two-Bit agreed. He should know better, especially from the last time, but no one's mentioned to Two-Bit about Ponyboy's prior fainting spells and so he thinks it a onetime occurrence. Plus, he has a healthy case of denial.

It's the bottom of the ninth. Darry's on third base, Pony on first. The remainder of his team – Tim Shepard and a few of Darry's coworkers Mac, Kent and Roger watch from the sidelines. Mac's next up to bat. Sodapop pitches, Mac swings and then they're off.

Darry runs through home and Pony obliterates the bases. Two-Bit cheers for Pony even though they're on opposing teams. Steve tries to get Pony out but he aptly dodges him, sliding into home. Pony gives Steve the finger when Darry isn't looking.

They win, 6-4.

Laughing, Darry gives Ponyboy a hug. "Nice work, kiddo."

"Bullshit," Steve mutters, pulling off his glove. Sodapop gallops over to his brothers.

The game's over. Everyone's relaxing, drinking beer, telling tales, milling near the corner dugout. But Curly Shepard, stupid Curly Shepard, picks the wooden baseball bat up, feeling its weight in his hands. Angry about losing, he wants to swing, if just to practice.

Curly stands a little too close to the group. The air sizzles as he whips the bat.

I walk down the bleachers, through the chain length fence and settle close to the group. This is when I hear that Darry got the promotion after all. They're doing what normal folks do: celebrating. "Good for you," I tell him, even though he can't hear me. He deserves it.

Ponyboy takes a step back. Curly _whooshes_ the bat.

My hands stray to my hat. I grip the memo in my palm, read it once and then pocket it.

Another step and another _whoosh_. This time the bat connects with the back of Ponyboy's head.

*

"Oh, what the hell!" I yell as I'm pulled out of my body. Everett just looks at me. "You said I wasn't gonna die." I cross my arms. "And of all people, Curly Shepard? Really?"

Everett laughs. It's light and cheerful. "Don't worry. You're not going to die today."

"Yeah, you keep saying that but I'm not sure I believe you."

He raises an eyebrow. "You can trust me. I'm not the bad guy." He leans forward. "I may want your secrets, but not you. You're quite interesting as a living specimen."

I look down at my feet. It's like I'm standing on a mirror, but through that mirror I can see the other side – the living. My other life is still at the baseball field. I'm on the ground and Sodapop keeps touching the back of my head. Tim's hollering at Curly. And I can actually hear Curly think: _Not again_.

I find Everett watching me. I can't help myself. I smile in disbelief. "This is weird. This is trippy." Feeling disjointed, I look away from the disturbing scene beneath me.

"Working together might not be so bad," Everett offers.

"What'd you mean?"

Everett hands me a cigarette. "You might as well enjoy being invincible. Take the risks I say you can and enjoy them."

"Right. My brothers would love that."

"You're a teenager," Everett states. "You already have that mindset. I'm just giving you an out."

I stick the cigarette in my mouth. It lights instantly. He's trying to bribe me. He's persuasive. "No," I say.

"We can talk about it later," Everett says, glancing down at his watch. "I've kept you long enough. They'll get nervous."

"Too late." I inhale the cigarette smoke and began coughing.

*

Breathing's just a rhythm. Because when I wake up, I think I've forgotten how. I keep coughing; my mouth tastes like smoke. The arm underneath my neck tightens. It pulls me up.

"Dar!" Soda shouts. "He's awake!"

"Ah, god, Soda," I moan. "You're so loud."

I roll out of Soda's arms and onto my side. The dirt squishes beneath me. "Easy," someone says as I prop myself up on my elbows and pull myself back into a crouch. I straighten up, adjust my eyes and look at the crowd in front of me.

Steve's the first one to say anything. "Holy fuck, kid. You have got to have the hardest head in the world."

*

I squint at the light. I should've known I wasn't going to be let off the hook that easily. The minute I woke up I knew I'd lose. The doctor straightens up and puts his flashlight away. "Pupils aren't dilated. Any vision loss?"

"Nope. None. Can we go now?" I ask Darry, hopping down from the cot.

"Pone…" Darry sighs, exasperated. He looks at the doctor. "I'm not just being paranoid am I? He's had two head injuries in the last few weeks..."

The doctor pushes his glasses up higher on his nose. "You can't be too careful with children." He shakes Darry's hand. "Just keep a close eye on him."

"Oh, brother." I leave Darry behind and greet Soda, Two-Bit and Steve in the waiting room.

"I could kill Curly," Soda's saying to Steve.

"Don't worry," Steve says, flipping through the funny pages. "Tim'll do it for you."

Two-Bit asks, "How's the head, kiddo?"

I look at my brother. "Can we just go?"

"Sure." Soda touches my arm. "Where's Darry?"

"Who cares." I'm being rude, but it's all I can do to ignore the thing named Everett. He absolutely cannot exist. But then my other option is that I'm crazy which isn't too hot of an idea either.

"Hey," Soda says, snagging my hand. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Sorry. I'm just…" I try to clear my thoughts. "I'm just kind of messed up right now."

"It's ok." Soda gives me a small smile. "A bat to the head can do that."

The door to Exam Room 1 opens. Darry steps out, annoyed. "I want to talk to you."

Soda throws an arm around my neck. He can tell Darry's pissed and that I'm the probable cause. "Not here, Dar." Steve and Two-Bit slink down the hall to the elevator.

Darry ignores him. "Pony, despite what you may think I don't drag you to the doctor for sheer entertainment." He holds up a bottle of pills. "Two of these, every four hours." I reach for them but he pockets the pills as if I'm going to start selling them right there in the hallway. "You get headaches, you tell one of us."

I salute him. "Aye, aye, captain." Darry's jaw jumps.

As we're leaving, a pair of nurses passes us by in the hall. The younger nurse hands a chart to the older one. She speaks with a slight accent. "…Patient number 10232 is Jerry Wood. He's in room 36. Suffered a heart…" Their conversation trails off.

Recognizing the name, I feel the blood drain from my face. Soda catches me by the elbow as I slump down into a vacant chair. The odds keep piling up.

*

I've called a meeting with Fate. I know what she's doing. Jerry Wood and Ponyboy Curtis in the same hospital? Not coincidence.

She looks at me through her dark hair. If she were alive she'd be beautiful, a queen, an empress. Here, she's my rival. "You honestly thought they wouldn't take him to the hospital?" She nods at Ponyboy Curtis who's staring at the white wall in front of him in shocked disbelief that the past keeps rudely intruding. Soda and Darry kneel in front of him, keeping tabs on his sanity. "Those boys love him. They are not fools."

Everything with Fate equates to love, life and beauty. I always feel like a youth next to Fate, a fraud. I'll never admit it to her but she knows so much more than I. And I don't have to admit it, because she already knows this.

"You're going to scare him so much he'll never talk to me."

She smirks. "How do you know it won't help _you_, Everett?"

"Iris," I say, impatient. "We had an agreement. Stay out of each other's jobs."

"Understandable." She holds her hands out to me. "But I couldn't help myself." Iris tugs at a long strand of hair. "If you're curious, Jerry Wood has nothing to do with my intervention."

"I know, I got your memo." I don't know what she's up to but I do know that Jerry Wood won't be around for long.

"I'm wondering…" She touches her lips in thought. "…Who will discover first. You or the boy." I don't bother to ask what she means because no doubt she's referring to the future of which I am unaware of.

"He'll trust me," I say. I take off my fedora.

Iris raises a brow.

*

The next day I go back to the hospital to see Jerry Wood. I don't know why I go. Maybe I like bringing up the past but that's not it. I think if I keep facing it I can convince myself that it's not a coincidence; there's a reason for it.

I sign in on the guest sheet, handing it to the nurse at the front desk. I knock on room 36 and step inside. He sets his newspaper aside.

"Hi, Jerry… I don't know if you—"

His eyes widen in surprise. "Of course, I know who you are!" He chuckles, a big rumble floating out of his belly. "What on earth are you doing in this place?" He gives me a wry grin. "Haven't learned your lesson since last time?"

"No, sir, I guess not." I sit across from him. He's bigger than he was a year ago, beady eyes sunken into a fat face.

Jerry clears his throat, taking off his glasses. "I heard about your friends. I sure am sorry, son."

I'm eager to change the subject. "So, uh, how're you feeling?"

"Good, good," he huffs, touching his chest. "My ticker gave out for a minute but I'm getting back on track…eating good and cutting back on the smokes…"

Jerry continues talking while I end up feeling vaguely lost yet comforted. He reminds me of finding my brothers, helping me for the briefest moment when I had thought Darry hated me. But the whopper of a headache I have causes me to smile and nod as he chats away for the next hour. Finally, a nurse has to take his blood pressure and I say goodbye, leaving Jerry Wood to his tests and newspaper.

*

Outside the hospital, I take a breath of air. The heat chokes by lungs but feels good nonetheless. The bus station sign beckons me, the loose change in my pocket telling me to go home. I don't. I stand in the parking lot, lighting cigarette after cigarette and breathing in the burning smoke.

"Excuse me."

The sun's bright as I turn around but my eyes focus on the source of the voice. It's a nurse, maybe 40 years old. Her hair is an odd whitish blonde and she has a cross around her neck. She's carrying a clipboard in her hands. Unsure of what she wants, I look around for a "No Loitering" sign.

"Did you visit a Jerry Wood?" she asks.

I toss my smoke out. "Um, yeah, I did. He ok?"

She smiles kindly. "Oh, yes. Forgive me but…are you Ponyboy _Curtis_?" She holds the clipboard up, tapping at my signature.

"Yes ma'am..."

"How old are you?"

"Just turned 15."

"How many brothers do you have?"

The questioning is odd and I'm beginning to wish I would have taken the bus. "Um…two older ones…"

Taken aback, the nurse blinks. "Well. Wow." She covers her heart. "My goodness."

"Look." I step away. "I have to go." I run out of the parking lot, tripping over my own feet.

*

The next night I show Ponyboy Jerry Wood's death.

I slip into the hospital room. His monitors are beeping surely but steadily. With a touch of regret, I remove my hat. He was a nice man. He cared about humanity. But he lived the good life. A wife and two kids. A good job and friends. You can't ask for much more than that.

I place my hand on Jerry's shoulder. He twitches and then his breath is no more.

This was one of the easy ones.

In the morning, Sodapop finds Ponyboy sitting on the edge of their bed, shoulders hunched over, elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. "What's wrong, Pone?" Soda asks, sitting next to him. Gently, he places a hand on the back of Pony's head, feeling the lump.

"He died, Soda."

"Who did kiddo?"

"Jerry Wood."

"Oh, Pone. I'm so sorry."

*

Please review.


	9. Chapter 9

SE Hinton owns The Outsiders.

Cursing to follow.

Please review.

IX. Skelter

*

Sodapop takes me to Jerry Wood's funeral. It's in a small church in downtown Tulsa. We sit in the back pew during the service and Sodapop doesn't say a word.

Jerry's wife –Margaret – comes up to me when it's over. She's a round, jovial woman with auburn hair. During her eulogy, she spoke about her husband with pride and happiness only shedding a few tears in the process. "Thank you for coming," Margaret says, hugging me tight. "He always liked you." When she releases me my breath's gone. "It's nice to finally put a face to the name."

"You too."

"How was he before he passed?"

I suddenly feel guilty for being the last one Jerry spoke with before he died. "He was…good…happy." I shift, wanting a smoke.

She smiles. "Yep, that was Jerry." Margaret looks at Sodapop. "You take good care of this one."

Soda puts a firm hand on my shoulder. "Always."

*

The woman's screaming, long arms reaching heavenward. "Where is he? Let me see him."

A nurse bends over her. "You have to rest."

"Where is he?"

The nurse glances over her shoulder at a number of people who are leaning over a small white bundle. Their hushed whispers fill the room. "I'm so sorry," the nurse says. She's young, trying not to cry. "He's gone."

The woman scrunches her face up. "Nooooo," she moans. "Oh, my God." She puts a hand over her eyes. "Please help me. Don't do this…"

Shaken, the nurse bolts from the room. The woman opens her mouth again – so do I.

My yell fills the room and I sit upright in shock. "Son?" The librarian is saying. "Are you ok? Do you need me to call someone?"

I scoot back in my chair. People stare at me from between the rows of books. "No, no. I'm fine." I look down at the book clutched in my hand, _Light in August_. The librarian looks down too.

"Do you want to check that out?"

I toss the book on the table. "No."

*

I've been ready for this and I know Ponyboy has too. It's a week later. Ponyboy's reading a book on the porch, his cigarette smoke wafting back inside the house through the screen door. It's mid-July. He's got two weeks until another memo rolls around.

Ponyboy looks up as Darry's truck pulls into the driveway. Darry exits, carrying a bowling ball bag. Pony smiles. "Did you win?"

Darry pauses on the steps. "I did ok." He takes in his youngest brother's empty pack of smokes, not liking what he sees.

"I never took you for a bowler, Dar." Pony's smile widens.

"Guys from work roped me into it." Darry utters a quick laugh. "After tonight, I don't think I'll be invited back." He sets the bag down. "I'll stick with football."

Pony goes back to reading his book and just as Darry's about to walk inside, he hesitates, one hand on the doorknob. "Pony."

"Hmmm?"

"I have a question for you. Last week…how did you know Jerry Wood had died?" Darry finishes, leaning in the door frame.

I eye Ponyboy Curtis, hoping he gives a reasonable answer. It can't be too crazy or too sane; my work will be shot before I even begin. I walk through the screen door, readying myself just in case.

Ponyboy sets his book down, a frown creasing his forehead. "I dreamt it."

"You've been dreaming an awfully lot lately."

"I reckon it's 'cause it's been nearly a year since…" Pony shrugs. "…Everyone died." He gives Darry a small, crooked smile. Pony doesn't know it but it's that smile which bothers Darry. "Nothin' to worry about, Dar."

Good boy, I think. But I'm still worried. I can feel Ponyboy aching to tell someone; he wants to tell Darry about the woman in his dreams. She scares him. Pony feels close to her but doesn't know why. Pony's wondering if Darry would listen, _really listen_. He has his doubts.

But so do I. Because Darry Curtis _would_ listen. He's a better man than a year ago – and even then his main fault was simply stubborn concern for his brothers. Darry's lightened and every now and then he lets people glimpse this.

Unfortunately, he may hinder my plans. I need to know who this woman is. Not Darrel Curtis.

"You can talk to me." Darry catches Ponyboy on the shirt as he stands up, ready to go inside.

I groan. Leave it be, Darry.

"I know." Pony bites his lip. "It's just that…lately…" He's thinking about where to begin, how to tell his brother that death is all he dreams about. That it scares and fascinates him at the same time. Darry waits, staring down into his brother's young face.

Ponyboy Curtis won't get far; I will not allow it. I cross the porch.

"…I've been dreaming about the weirdest—"

I leave my hat on but touch Ponyboy's shoulder, trying to keep my strength to a minimum. As much as I don't want to, I send blackness and hurt through my fingertips into the boy. Ponyboy's legs go out and he drops to his knees before Darry can catch him.

"Oh, my God," Ponyboy states, shocked. "God." He's never felt a pain like this before, zipping its way through his head, clouding his thoughts. He presses the palm of his hand against the right side of his temple. His breath is raspy.

I step back, evaluating my work. Darry kneels down, closing his eyes for a moment. He's evaluating my work too and doesn't like what he sees. Ponyboy drops his head, resting it against the floor of the porch.

*

Home for the day, Soda and Steve stroll through the living room, catching me off guard. I was just about to join the boy. Since last week on the porch, I've been trying to find a few free seconds with him. This house is just too alive.

Soda's nearly in the kitchen when he notices Ponyboy sleeping on the couch. Pausing, Soda lingers and moves back to his youngest brother. He brushes his long fingers against Pony's brow. The pills the doctor gave him sit on the coffee table, untouched.

"It's noon," Steve says. He grabs the loaf of bread sitting on the counter. "What's his problem?"

Soda frowns. "He can't sleep at night." Steve begins frying some grilled cheese sandwiches. "Pone," Soda whispers, gently shaking his brother. "Do you want some lunch?" Pony doesn't stir. Soda tries again. "C'mon, kiddo."

I sit down next to Ponyboy, annoyed that I am yet again interrupted. The boy's skinny and he's tired. I'm a drain on him; I make him physically sick. It's just a bonus I come with. Anyone I follow for a while begins to feel my effects. They won't die from it…they just experience glimpses of mortality. I suppose it makes them think of their own existence and the tentative shortness of it.

Soda goes to join Steve and I step into Ponyboy Curtis.

*

Everett seems annoyed. "You see what you're doing?" I glance down through the floor at myself.

"Umm. Sleeping?"

"What? No." Everett adopts Darry's exasperated sigh. "You are just making things difficult. If you keep talking to people about what you're dreaming, _thinking_, I'll have no choice—"

My eyes narrow. "I knew it. You're the one dropping me like bowling pins." I sit on the couch. "Knock it off. You're freaking my brothers out." I look at Sodapop. Soda and Steve are drinking beers and eating grilled cheese in the living room while I continue to sleep through their banter and the TV movie of the week.

"Understandable. And I am sorry but it will continue this way as long as I'm here."

"That's not funny. Darry already thinks I'm sick or something." I pat my pockets and find a cigarette. It lights automatically. "Would you stop doing that?" I snap, tossing it on the ground.

"I'm sorry," Everett repeats. His dark eyes are apologetic. "You _are_ technically sick. When I'm around, you're dying. It comes with the territory."

I swallow the lump in my throat. Everett watches me. I sit very still. "Is that why everyone I know dies?"

"No," he soothes. "Never. You are not the cause. You're the attraction. Happenstance. Fate. She just follows you." At _she,_ I look up. Everett folds his hands together.

"So why am I special? How come out of all the people, it's me?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. Our connection. Because it's either very good for one of us or very bad." I must look worried because Everett takes off his hat. "I don't want to hurt you." And for some odd reason, I believe him.

I take a breath. If cooperating is what it takes to get Everett gone, I might as well go with it. He's been right twice before; I didn't die. I shrug, "Okay, what the hell."

Pleased, Everett stands up, adjusting the hat on his head. "Very good." He points at me. "Remember that when you wake up. You agreed." He pulls a white piece of paper from his hat. He reads it and then pockets it. "Next week. Take a chance."

I stand up, feeling ill and excited at the same time. Everett speaks again. "I'm sending you back now."

Faintly, I find myself dropping through the barrier. "Everett," I call out as an afterthought. "Who's the woman in my dream?"

"I was hoping you could tell me that."

*

When I wake up, Two-Bit is crowing about how he's just beaten Steve at poker. His mouth is filled with chocolate cake. "Jesus," Steve says to Soda in disgust. "You'd think he was starving."

"You're just bitter, Stevie." Two-Bit rubs his hands together gleefully. "It looks like the student is now the teacher."

Impressed, Soda fans out Two-Bit's cards. "I have no idea how you pulled that off." His head swivels over to me. "Hi sleepyhead."

"Hey ya'll." I yawn, rubbing my eyes. My head's fuzzy from my barely remembered dream. Then very suddenly, I'm jerking my hands away from my face. It's on fire. The hottest sensation I've ever felt crawling through my skin.

Soda half-rises from his chair. "Pony?"

I'm out of that room and into the bathroom before he can say anything more. I have to test something.

_You are technically sick. When I'm around, you're dying._

I paw through the medicine cabinet, searching through aspirin and razor blades, to find the thermometer. With an odd sense of calmness, I shake it out and stick it under my tongue, wondering if Everett's proving something.

"What're you doin?" It's Sodapop. I jump.

"Nothing," I say, the thermometer jumbling my words.

"Let me see that," Soda says softly. He snatches the thermometer from my mouth, twisting it in his hands to get the reading. "Shit." His face is pale.

"106."

Seeing Soda's face I grab it back from him. "It's wrong."

"Soda, it's _wrong_."

*

Ponyboy Curtis is having an effect on me.

I see the woman now too. She is so very familiar. Her large green eyes and golden features. Her tears run loose; she hasn't cried like this in a long time. She hasn't felt despair like this ever. She twists on the cot as people hover around her.

There's no chart on her bed. The cot is soaked in blood. It seems like my type of scene. But I can't remember why I'm here. Was I here?

"Help me," she says to the room. "Help _him_. Please. _Please_." She looks through me – or maybe it's at me. I don't want to know. She scares me. Because whatever she wants, I'll do the wrong thing.

*

The sky is filled with storm clouds. It's the time of the year when the tornadoes began to roll in. The air's filled with electricity mirroring my insides. I'm nervous today and I don't know why. Beside me, Two-Bit's chatting about going out tomorrow night. There's supposed to be a party at the Ridge.

"Think Superman'll let you go?" he asks. He slurps on the snow cone he lifted from the convenience store. How he managed to steal a snow cone I'll never know.

I roll my eyes. "I'll get him to sign my permission slip." I light my third smoke in the last ten minutes.

"Kid," Two-Bit drawls, kicking a rock in front of him. "I've never seen a living, breathing chimney before."

"I know. I _know._ I'm supposed to quit." Darry and Soda have been riding me for the last two months to give it up. Some recent news reports linking cancer and cigarettes have them on my case. "I'm trying," I tell a doubtful looking Two-Bit.

"Well, when that happens I'll buy you your first shot." He winks at me. "Trade one habit in for another."

We make a turn on Avondale Lane and Two-Bit stops in his tracks. "Shit."

"Glory." I toss him a look. "I knew sooner or later it'd backfire on you."

Sticking an arm out, Two-Bit deftly guides me in the opposite direction; Fisher Avenue. "Zip your lip, kid." His voice carries urgency, so I don't argue. We hear noise behind us and I know he's seen us.

The guy Two-Bit is trying to avoid is nobody we'd ever have to avoid if it weren't for Tim Shepard. A few months ago, Steve, Two-Bit and Sodapop ended up backing Shepard and his gang up in a fight against Holt Skelter and his crew.

Darry yelled at them; I warned them. No dice.

They fought. They won. They pissed him off.

Normally, we wouldn't run from a fight. But Two-Bit doesn't have his blade and apparently I don't count as much help. Holt Skelter's dangerous.

"Hey!" the voice yells. "Hold up!"

"Shit. Crap. Fuck," Two-Bit swears, slowing. He pats his pockets for his left-behind switchblade. "Stay behind me, kid." On the sidewalk, he backs us up near the road, in view of the passerby. Witnesses, I think with irony.

Holt Skelter swaggers up to us; an ugly specimen of a man. Broad-shouldered, face beaten in, grimaced smile, he's clearly amused. His lackeys hover behind him. "Howdy, kids."

"We don't want a fight, Skelter."

"Who said anything about fighting? I just want to talk." Skelter eyes me. "Who's this?"

"No one."

"Little young to get involved in this ain't he?"

"He ain't involved in anything."

"Oh, oh, oh. I know who this is. He looks mighty like a Sodapop Curtis." I keep my mouth shut. "Well, if this is who I think it is…then he's definitely involved." Skelter takes a step toward me.

"Back the fuck off," Two-Bit growls.

Skelter holds his hands up. "I got no beef with you, Two-Bit. It's with Tim. But if you know what's good for you, you'll stay out of it next time." He nods at me. "Tell your brother that too. A personal message."

My eyes narrow. Skelter snorts. "This is a favor, Two-Bit. You're lucky this kid's with you." Skelter begins to go back the way he came.

Something flares inside of me. It's idiocy, but all of a sudden, I'm remembering Everett. It's been a week; according to him, I can tempt death. "You know what I think…" Helter turns.

"Shut the fuck up, Pony," Two-Bit hisses.

"…You're chickenshit." I smirk, conjuring Dallas Winston.

Helter doesn't answer. He's fast and ends up shoving me off the curb into the road. I hit the cement, landing on my back. Considering myself lucky, I stare at the sky, hearing Skelter and Two-Bit exchange angry words.

Then Two-Bit's shouting: "Move it, Pone!"

Dazed, I roll onto my side. The car flying at me makes no apology. It's close. I dive out of the way, twisting myself up into a sitting position and shoving myself backwards. The gravel in the road cuts my palms. The Chevy whizzes by, unaware of our near encounter.

Two-Bit's hauling me up, his hands grabbing me underneath my armpits.

*

Please review. Pardon typos.

All the plot points will tie together. Just a quick mention if you think it's out if control. ;)


	10. Chapter 10

SE Hinton owns The Outsiders. She is wonderful.

Please review or I'll send Fate after you.

Thanks!!

X. He and Three

*

Darry is paged over the intercom. He tells the roofers he'll be right back and leaves the hotness of outside for the cool confines of his office. Inside, sit Two-Bit and Ponyboy. Pony tries to keep the smile of his face. I watch his hands shake from excitement. He can't believe what he just got away with.

Two-Bit twists around as Darry enters. "Darry," he says. "We got a problem." Two-Bit's getting wise. It's one thing to keep quiet about a fever, another to button your trap when your best friends' little brother has just been threatened by a lunatic.

Or so, that's how Two-Bit sees it.

"I _told_ you guys." Darry says. He slams his hand down on his desk. Pony sits there, unconcerned; thinking about how cool it is that his oldest brother now has a desk, a nameplate to match and no more sore muscles.

"I told you it would lead to trouble. Didn't I? I told ya'll and Tim not to mess with Skelter." Darry's broad jaw twitches. "I'm gonna brain Sodapop."

Halfway across the room, I can feel him. His heart's pumping fast. "What about you?" He stares at his brother, who looks a bit too thin and small for his age. Darry knows he can fight but he also knows there's always someone bigger and stronger. At least the kid can run.

Darry's cool façade an act; his worry seeps into me.

_My goddamn baby brother_, he's thinking. And I wonder where he gets this intensity.

"Why didn't you just keep your mouth shut?"

Pony chews on his nail. "I don't know."

"It was stupid."

"I know."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm okay."

"Okay." Darry says this like he's memorizing it. "I'll talk to Tim. You both go home."

*

I stay behind to listen to Darry.

"Hey Tim? It's Darry. I'm calling—You heard?" Darry shuffles some papers on his desk, trying to focus. "Well, look…I don't care what you do, but when it involves my brothers…" He pauses a moment, listening.

Darry exhales. "I know. But Skelter? He ain't gonna fight fair no matter how it shakes out…Okay. Yeah, sure. Let me know." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Thanks, Tim."

The phone's hung up with a click.

*

"You're in trouble," I tell Sodapop when he and Steve arrive home.

"Shit, kid, are you sure it's not the other way around?" Steve opens the fridge, searching for a beer.

"What'd I do?" Soda asks, confused. Compared to me, Soda's a saint.

Two-Bit throws me the pasta and I dump it in the boiling water. I hold my hands out to catch Two-Bit's incoming spoon. It nearly beans me in the face but I catch it, eyes narrowing. "Nice throw." I begin stirring the stroganoff that's boiling on the stove.

"Payback." Two-Bit raises a gleeful eyebrow, turning to Soda and Steve. "So, you two want to hear a story? Today we had a run in with one of our favorite, dear old friends."

"It's your fault," I tell Two-Bit with a wry grin. I look at Steve. "All of yours."

"Oh, I don't think so." Two-Bit grabs my shoulder, spinning me in front of Steve and Soda like I'm on display. "Picture this…your young brother and I taking a stroll downtown, smelling the flowers, skipping down the street—"

"Stealing snow cones," I interject.

"Pony, that's neither here nor there." Two-Bit makes a grand gesture in the air. "All of a sudden, we come upon… Holt Skelter." By the look on his face, it's here, that Soda knows he's in deep shit with Darry.

Two-Bit continues. "A few words are exchanged, witty remarks tossed about…and soon, by golly, he recognizes this one…as Soda's younger, but just-as-good-looking, brother."

I roll my eyes and go back to stirring the sauce.

"So, Skelter issues a few threats and leaves us be. But then…this one…" Two-Bit wags a finger. "This one opens his mouth."

Steve's smiling. "What'd you say?"

"The kid called Skelter… chickenshit. Chicken. Shit."

"_Oh_. Oh, no," Soda says.

"So then what happened?" Steve presses.

"Oh that?" Two-Bit snaps and I know he's still annoyed with me for how it ended. "Skelter shoved Pony in the middle of Fisher Avenue. Kid nearly missed getting flattened by a Chevy."

"If you ask me," I say, feeling cocky. "Skelter's passive aggressive."

Soda's shaking his head. "Not funny, Pone. Not funny at all." Soda pulls out a chair and sits down. He props his elbow on the table, resting his chin in his hand.

"I'm laughing," Steve says, smirking.

*

Weeks fly by. July turns to August and I haven't heard from Everett. I think he's lurking around but can't be sure.

Then one night I dream of Everett. He brings it to me. It's the worst dream yet; because _he's_ in it.

*

He's talking to his friends. The young one and the angry one. Pony's escaped me…Dallas won't.

Johnny's held on a long while, fighting. But when his friend's enter, the energy goes out of him. He's releasing, giving himself up. I walk around the bed, skirting Ponyboy.

"…fighting's no good…"

I take my hat off. Johnny whispers to Ponyboy Curtis about "staying gold". I touch Johnny's shoulder, taking his breath. His dark eyes close forever. The friends stand there a beat. Pony's confused, Dally swearing up a storm. Then Dallas punches the wall and runs out. Ponyboy stays a moment more. He wipes at his eyes and leaves.

"That was...easier than expected."

The voice startles me.

"I'm glad you feel that way. It's much harder for others."

"I think I was ready." Johnny nods. "I know I was. Will he be okay?"

I set the hat back on my head. "Eventually," I tell Johnny, unsure of which boy he means. "_You'll_ be okay if that matters."

"It used to. Now it doesn't." Johnny's sitting on his bed, legs crossed, arms propped behind him. He takes a breath and looks at the ceiling. "I hope they know…it worked out for the best."

"That's important."

His eyes are so black. "Yes. It is."

*

"Dar."

He opens his eyes. "Pony, what is it?"

"Nightmare." I sit beside him on the couch, rubbing my chest. My bones ache; I don't know why I feel so bad. "Can I stay up with you?" I ask feeling like a 15-year old loser.

"Of course you can kiddo." Darry stifles a yawn, scooting over to give me more room. The TV is playing a black and white movie of _The Blob_. I settle beside him and Darry wraps an arm around me. It strikes me as strange that a year ago I wanted nothing to do with him, that I considered him my worst enemy and I his. Now, I can't imagine Darry as unfeeling. He _feels_…he just shows it when he's ready, unlike me, an open book.

I'm about to say something when my breath catches. I begin rubbing the tightening in my chest.

"You okay?"

"My chest hurts."

"I told you to knock it off with the smokes."

"I know. It's just hard."

"I know."

I lean into his side, hearing his heartbeat through his t-shirt.

"What'd you dream about?"

"I don't remember."

"You always say that."

*

"That wasn't much," Iris says.

"It was enough."

"I suppose." Iris pauses from her game of croquet. "Although a smart comeback isn't very death-defying." She smacks her ball with the mallet. I stop it with my foot before it can make its way through the hoop.

"Then give me a freebie."

"I shouldn't, Everett."

"It doesn't matter," I tell her. "He'd live anyway."

Iris loves games. In that way, she's easy to goad. Her smile lights up her face; her cheeks round apples. "Will he?" She raises her mallet. "He's sick. You're not helping him."

"You're wrong."

"Very well." Touching the air beside her, she pulls a slender piece of paper from the nothingness. Then, she pulls two more out.

I'm impressed.

"Here are three of them. Consider it a favor."

Iris blows me a kiss.

*

No one's around. Pony tidying up the house. He's been lazy these last few days; enjoying my absence, wasting the last few weeks of freedom before school starts.

I slink through the door, go through the usual motions of removing my hat and then touch his shoulder. His eyes widen and roll back. He crumples.

*

"Something _better_?" he asks in disbelief.

"Yes…" I struggle to explain. "Something else…risky."

"Like what? Drink a bottle of arsenic?"

I nod. "You could. Although I'm quite sure _that_ would land you in the hospital."

He's sitting with his feet drawn up on the couch and his hands touching the top of his head. Pony peers out at me through his arms. "Won't anything I do pretty much land me there?"

I reach out, grabbing his arm. "You just can't get caught."

"Good point." He looks at me and laughs. "This is crazy." He's beginning to fade.

I hold up three fingers. "You get three of them."

"See ya, Everett."

"Goodbye, Ponyboy."

*

A new neighbor moves in down the street. The moving truck is parked in front of the house. The man and his wife are unloading boxes of all sizes. I'm on my way to meet Soda at the DX but figure I can give them a hand. Maybe a couch will fall on me, saving me the trouble of attempting Everett's stunts.

"Need some help, sir?"

The man blinks into the sun, straightening up. "Sure could." His wife looks relieved.

"I'll make some lemonade," she says, scooting off.

"We're neighbors," I tell the man. I pick up a box. "Ponyboy Curtis."

The guy smiles. "Chris Meigs." He's in his early 40's, wearing chinos and a Hawaiian shirt. His hair is longer than most, shaggy brown hair that hits below his ears.

"Where're you from?"

"Back East. Maine." He grunts, hauling a large mirror out of the truck. "Transferred here from St. Mary's hospital."

"You're a doctor?" What I really want to add is _And you're living in this neighborhood?_

Chris laughs, reading my mind. "It's not so bad here. We liked the house. Wendy, she does that, fixes them up." He glances at his wife who's bringing out the lemonade. She's smart-looking, with glasses and long brown hair. Flustered, she balances the tray of drinks while kicking away an empty cardboard box resting on the lawn with her heel. Her mouth forms a curse.

"Word of advice," Chris says. "Don't call her ma'am."

*

I have fun with Everett's urgings. I want to get them over with; get him gone.

I take Pat's dirt bike out for a ride, claiming I'm an expert when in fact I've never been on one before. I end up peeling out and slamming into a tree. I fly off, scraping my right side up. Luckily, the bike's unscathed. "You know," Pat says, "You're a lot of fun. You keep hitting things but end up bouncing right back up."

"I should take it on the road."

He laughs. "I'll remember that."

The next time it backfires. I'm sitting on the edge of the bathroom tub, holding a bottle of aspirin, seriously contemplating swallowing the bottle.

But I chicken out. I'm not that stupid.

I don't even have to try the second _second_ time. I'm meeting Darry for lunch at one of his construction sites. Missing the sign that says "Keep Off", I stride right over a layer of beams covering a hole in the earth. Apparently, the owner's of the house were building a pool.

I fall through the wooden beams, gravity pulling me down about five feet. Then three of Darry's coworkers – I recognize two of them from the baseball game – are staring at me.

"Kid you okay?"

I cover my eyes, mortified.

"Hey!" Mac exclaims. "That's—"

"Shut up," I tell him, scrambling to my feet to prove I'm okay. "Don't tell Darry. Just get me out of here." They begin laughing, big burly chuckles that shake the earth. But they get me out of the hole without my brother knowing, expressing disbelief that nothing's broken.

When Darry sees me, covered in dirt, he asks when I've last showered.

*

"What'd you think it would have been like if we met in another life?" Fate asks. She's in one of her romantic moods; watching down on her favorite couples, lovers. We're meeting more often, talking about our jobs, comparing stories. We shouldn't but we do.

Her long glassy black hair hides the side of her right face. She looks like a shadow in waiting.

"We'd marry," I answer, sensibly. "It would be good for about three months or so and then we'd kill each other."

Fate's laugh is a tinkle. "Well, it's a good thing you're already dead and that I'm invincible."

"You always were humble, Iris."

*

Pardon typos. Please read and review….


	11. Chapter 11

Apologies for re-loading Chp 10 yesterday – I was trying to get Chp 11 up and was just having issues. Eventually I gave up but now but now here it is.

Thanks to all for reading and I hope you're still along for this crazy ride. Reviews = happy dance

SE Hinton owns the Outsiders. Warning for some cursing, some blood, and a flying Ponyboy.

*

XI. Revelator

Third time's the charm.

Pat claps my back. "Glad you could make it."

"Some housewarming party."

"Shit yeah. Parents are gone."

My entire class is at Pat's house, celebrating his pre-back to school bash. Screaming, drinking, flirting, dancing. Socials and greasers interacting for once; Pat's cut no one out. I'm on my second beer and feeling fine. I need this. It's me and no one else. I escape prying eyes, Everett's doom and gloom. I just want to enjoy myself.

I finish the beer, tossing it into the trash. "What's up, my man?" Pat hollers in my ear. "You want to have some fun?"

"What'd you have in mind?"

"Since you're the daredevil of the summer," Pat wiggles his eyebrows. "Jump into the pool."

I'm ready to strip my shirt off. "Okay."

"No." Pat slaps a hand on my chest. "From the roof." Doubtful, I glance up at his two story house. The roof slopes in an inverted "V". About five feet away rests the pool, glistening in the soft moonlight. Between the house and the pool lies the deck and concrete.

"I'll do it." Somewhere in my unconscious, I know Everett's applauding me.

*

An hour later, I start seeing college kids. "Pat," I snag his shirt. "What're they doin' here?"

"It's an open house, man."

I grab another beer and mosey on down the lawn, smoking and drinking. There's a tap from behind and suddenly Two-Bit swoops me up. "Well looky here!" He spins me around, setting me on my feet. I manage to balance myself without spilling any beer. "We meet again."

Two-Bit eyes the carbonated beverage and the cigarette in my hand. "Well, well, well."

"Don't give me that look."

"What should I be giving you? A congratulations?"

"You're at a high school party, Two-Bit Mathews." I state. "You have no room to judge."

"And you, Ponyboy Curtis, are inebriated."

I smile. "Well, that's a fifty cent word."

"Been saving that one up all week." Two-Bit wraps an arm around my shoulder. "Let me introduce you to someone." He gestures grandly, pulling me in the opposite direction. Their backs to me, I see a tall boy talking with three girls and another dark-haired guy.

"You shit," I snap, trying to wriggle out from his arm.

Two-Bit taps the guy on the shoulder. The guy turns. "Ponyboy Curtis, allow me to introduce, Sodapop."

Soda smiles, but it's wary; caught off guard. "Kiddo, fancy meeting you here!"

"Surprise, surprise," Steve mutters.

"I thought we'd hang around with our own age group for once," I point out.

Soda doesn't look happy. "You were supposed to quit," he says, plucking the smoke out of my hand. It fizzles on the ground, the ember dying. Soda sees the beer too but doesn't say a word about that.

Pat skids into view. His eyes are glassy. "You ready?"

I draw back. He stinks. "What's wrong with you?"

"Weed."

"Should've known. I'm ready."

Finishing my beer, I hand it to Steve "Watch this."

*

If I'm gonna do this I might as well have a little fun. Plus, the beer in my system is relieving a lot of the stress. I shove the attic window open, pulling myself up so I can crawl on top of the roof. I eye the pool below me. Everyone looks so small from this vantage point.

Soda's tossing a beer back, Two-Bit's hanging around a group of blondes and every once in a while they'll throw him a smile. Pat's spreading the word about my jump. He walks around to his group of friends, says something and then points at the roof.

I stand up and wave, balancing precariously on the thin slop of the roof. His friends laugh, raise their beers and settle back for the show.

Unfortunately, Pat tells the wrong people. He taps Soda on the shoulder, pointing at me and then the pool. Soda shakes his head. "Pony! What in the hell are you doing?" Soda yells; hands cupped around his mouth.

I wave at Sodapop and continue balancing.

My legs aren't as strong as I'd like. I slip on the slope, biting my tongue in the process. The blood's coppery. Soda closes his eyes, turning away to mutter something to Steve.

Kneeling down, I grasp what I can of the roof. "Don't you break your leg," I say to myself. "I need you for track."

"Ponyboy! I swear to God!"

My face flushes. My older brother's hollering at me in front of my entire class and numerous college freshman.

"You ain't a bird kid!" Two-Bit joins Soda. He glances at the pool. "You ain't a fish either." I peer over the edge of the roof. Steve looks mildly amused, if not annoyed.

"Sorry. No can do." Just for show, I begin to stretch, bending my legs, arms, pretending to crack my neck. People cover their mouth, laughing in delight.

Pat's having fun with it too. "Ponyboy Curtis," he screams, holding up his beer like it's a microphone. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Well Pat. I'd just like to say that I definitely can't fly. And I can't swim too good…so here's hoping to a good landing!" The crowd below roars with laughter. I scratch my head. It wasn't that funny – although drunks are definitely a good audience.

The pool's glassy, beckoning. A six feet distance lies from me to it. "Two-Bit," I call down. "Catch." I toss him my shoes. He grabs one, missing the other.

"Pone…" Soda warns as I back up. He rests his hands on top of his head and begins pacing. I wonder if he'll even watch. Nearing the farthest end of the roof, I crouch into a sprint position, fingertips brushing the tar.

Without thinking about what I'm doing, I push myself up. Gathering speed, I run down the roof's runway, arms pumping by my side. Solidness slips beneath my feet as I leave it behind. It's as if the world stops. For a few short moments I'm literally flying through the air. My heart's pumping so hard it hurts.

I hit the water. It engulfs me, sharp stabbing pains, cool icy fingers. The bubbles float up around me. There's water in my nose and mouth. I shove up to the surface, choking and laughing all in one breath.

*

"Shit!" Soda says, watching in disbelief as Pony flies through the air. Pony hits the water with a slap. There's an odd silence when he's underwater, people holding their breath, waiting to see what he'll do next.

Pony explodes to the surface. He's grinning, thinking, _Holy Shit. I did it!_

I wish I could congratulate him but that will have to wait for our next meeting.

He swims to the edge of the pool as kids follow suit, jumping in next to him. His brother's quick to get at him, hauling him up from the wetness of the water.

Ponyboy laughs, coughing as water flees his lungs. Two-Bit, the scare already over for him, jumps around Ponyboy. "You're crazy kid!" Ponyboy continues laughing, smiling.

Soda's trying not to laugh, trying to be angry with Ponyboy but the inside of his jaw twitches in silent laughter. His brother always fells him.

Two-Bit tries to muss Pony's hair but Pony aptly dodges him, ducking under his arm. He gives Two-Bit a shove into the pool. Hooting, Steve claps Ponyboy on the back. Pony just laughs and laughs, his eyes dancing in the moonlight.

*

"Why do you think Darry never goes camping with us?"

"You know why." Steve lights a smoke, sitting down on the porch step.

It's midnight. The four of them enjoying the warm summer night, back from Pat's party. Soda tosses Pony the football, Two-Bit and Steve still drinking.

"The rocket Two-Bit," Soda says. "Remember the rocket."

"I didn't know we couldn't light it in the tent."

"Flame and canvas don't mix, Two-Bit," Ponyboy says tiredly. "I thought you knew that by now." Steve utters a cry of "bullshit".

"I am not a scholar, Ponyboy." Two-Bit raises a hand haughtily. "I just can't _know_ things."

"You sure got that right." Steve stands up, groaning. "Soda, snap me a pass." He jogs across the street and into Chris Meig's yard.

"I hope Dar's having fun," Pony murmurs.

Soda throws the ball out to Steve. "He is."

I wish very suddenly that I could play football. The game seems enjoyable enough. A time to reminisce and catch up. It's special for the four of them; acting like kids, staying up late, work and stress a distant memory.

Pony runs down for a pass. This is when I catch a glimpse of how skinny he is. Sickly even. I rub my jaw, hoping I'm not the cause. I know I have much influence…but this…_this_. I may have to stop our midnight chats. The thought pains me.

Pony spins around to catch the ball and then stops.

Soda sprints forward. His brother is no longer running. I take a step toward him as well.

"Soda—" Pony's arm lashes out for support. Soda grabs it; arms entwined like vines.

"I'm dizzy," Pony breathes, closing his eyes. "I'm sitting down now," he tells Sodapop.

Soda lowers him down to the grass.

I look at my hands, confused. I haven't touched him.

*

"He's not your friend, Everett." I say nothing. Iris continues. "And…he's not your plaything."

"He's anything but. You know that."

Iris purses her lips. "That may be so. And it's my fault." She sets her tea aside. "He interests you; you've taken to him." She presses a hand against her chest.

I affect nonchalance, taking off my hat and shaking it out, getting the dust gone. "He's just a kid."

"Oh. But he's not."

"Just tell me Iris. I won't be your fool."

"I've been waiting for you to remember. You already saved him once."

I don't drink my tea, trying to block the memory. "You lie."

"Oh, Everett. How mean you are." Iris flutters her long lashes. "He died once. You know that. This time, I'm catching up."

"What are you talking about, Iris?"

Iris holds her arm out, her bracelets sliding to her thin wrist. Long fingers tangle with mine. ""I'll show you," she whispers, her voice honey.

*

I've seen a lot in my time, remembered most. But I realize now why I've never put two and two together. That night, 15 years ago, there were no names spoken. She was ma'am, he was daddy and most importantly, the boy wasn't named.

Besides I did something I wasn't supposed to.

I saved a life.

Iris shows me my forgotten memory.

The woman on the cot, on the hospital bed is sobbing, crying, holding her round stomach. Beneath her the sheets are turning red. "Noooo," she moans. "Please God."

The nurses around her hover, trying to help. One of them in particular is kind, trying to soothe her. "You'll be okay, ma'am. You'll be just fine."

The woman wants to scream that it's not her she's worried about but her child. After two lost and gone, he wasn't supposed to be but she found herself pregnant and waiting with baited breath. He is her last.

I move around the dank room, so subhuman, impersonal. The woman's screams fill the hall and I walk briskly outside to see the family. They always make me curious. There's a tall, broad-shouldered man hunched in a chair. Sitting next to him, a young child, perhaps five or six, swinging his feet. The man wipes his brow.

"What's wrong, daddy?"

"Your mother's having the baby." He tries to smile but his wife's screams drain him.

The boy thinks. "Is mama ok?"

"Yes, son."

"Is the baby?"

"Yes, Darrel."

Saddened by the scene in the hallway, I float back inside the delivery room. "The placenta tore…," the doctor is telling another nurse. "She's going to bleed out."

"Idiot," I hiss. "She can hear you." This is a situation I'd rather not be in. I feel pity for all involved. Sorrow, even.

"You have to push," the kind nurse is telling the woman. The nurse brushes white-blonde hair away from her eyes. "You need to get him out."

They go through the frantic motions. Bearing down, the mother pushes. Pushes with all her strength, all her life. Then the child shoots out of her and there are murmurings of, "The cord…it's wrapped…"

Sighing, I remove my hat, following the white bundle being carried across the room. I see it's a boy, as the doctor struggles to remove the umbilical wrapped around his neck. He's not moving.

The woman twists around as they take her son away. "Where is he? Let me see him."

The nurse bends over her. "Ma'am, you have to rest."

The nurse glances over her shoulder. The doctor looks back at her, shaking his head. I move in for…well, the kill, so to speak.

Hushed whispers fill the room. "I'm so sorry," the nurse says. She's young, trying not to cry. "He's gone." Horrified, the nurse runs out. Her first delivery isn't turning out the way she had thought it would go.

The woman scrunches her face up as the nurse turns tail. "Nooooo," she moans. "Oh, my God." She puts a hand over her eyes, long auburn hair falling across her face.

Guiltily, I stride over to the child. "I'm sorry…" I reach my hand out, readying myself. I rest my hand near the baby's pale shoulder. I graze it.

"Please help me. Don't do this…"

I glance over at her, and she's looking straight at me. Her green eyes are still bright, her pretty face beet red, stubborn like her child will be. "Please," she mouths. "Please."

My hand slides away. I don't touch him anymore. I can't do it. And so, I leave the child with just a little touch of death.

*

"Pony, listen," Everett says.

I laugh, staring at the game of chess before us. "I'm going to checkmate you," I tell him. I lean my elbow on the table separating us. "You know this passing out crap is getting old. Is there any way you can maybe…let that go?"

Everett's still looking at the board when he says, "I'm not doing it." He raises his eyes. "Anymore, that is."

Shrugging it off, take his rook, scraping it off the board and setting it on my side. "So, who were you?" I ask, curious. I pull my legs up, settling into the chair. "Who were you in another life?"

"No one's ever asked me that before…" he says, flattered. His eyes go very dreamlike. "It was a long time ago and I suppose that when I was—" Everett catches himself. "Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Distracting me with your questions…" He takes his hat off, rubbing his forehead. "How _do_ your brother's handle you?"

I scoff. "Geez, you act like I'm child."

"You are a child." I roll my eyes and go back to the game. "Listen. _Listen_ Ponyboy…I have to show you something."

"What?" I scoot back from the table.

"It's a memory."

"Do people die in it?"

He hesitates. "Kind of."

"Who?"

"You did."

"Me?"

"Just watch."

*

Special thanks to Calla Lily Rose on the medical stuff. You rock my socks. (I hope I didn't FUBAR anything too much).

Pardon any typos…


	12. Chapter 12

Another chapter. Please read and review….they spur me on!

Onward and upward!!

XII. Flutter

*

Pony swallows. Already, he hates me. Distrusts me. He knows what I know: I'm supposed to make him die. Because I couldn't before. But I'm going to try very hard to not let that happen. I'd like to tell him Fate's putting me up to it but I doubt he'd believe me.

The light above Ponyboy casts him in a sickly greenish glow. "Why're you really here? You knew who I was."

"No," I tell him before he can jump to conclusions. "I did not know. I knew we had a connection…but not this."

"I don't believe you." He stands up, hands shaking, eyes furious.

"No. Pony. No. When I saw you – the first time at the hospital – your mother Lara—"

"Don't call her that."

"I'm sorry; that was informal." I start again. "Your mother, Mrs. Curtis, never named you. You were just another nameless soul for me to take." I fold my hands together. "I didn't forget…I blocked it. I broke a rule. _That's_ why you're lucky – why you have near encounters, experience others' pain – I gave you a touch of myself without following through."

"So…you came back to...what? Right the wrong?" His hands ball at his side.

"I don't know."

He stares at me. I don't know how to explain. Death/life is like a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors except it's been replaced with Fate, Death and Human Nature. Someone always wins, toppling the other.

Fate's a fickle mistress; she won't tell me a thing.

"You have to keep your strength up," I say. "I know you're strong but something – other than me –is affecting you. I didn't mean to weaken you. I was merely curious."

"Yeah," Ponyboy says. "And you know what they say about curiosity."

"I didn't want this to happen. I didn't know—"

"You're wrong. You're a liar."

I bristle; I'm many things but a liar I am not. "Ask the nurse." I say, pulling myself up from the couch to approach him.

Pony nearly trips in his haste to get away from me. "What nurse?"

I cluck my tongue. This boy either has the greatest coping mechanism I've ever seen or the worst case of denial bred in a human.

"You _know_ what nurse, Ponyboy. The one who delivered you. The one who chased you out of the hospital when you saw Jerry Wood."

He stands dumb.

I try again. "Ask Darry."

After seeing Pony's premature "death", Fate showed me some home videos of the Curtis residence. Darrel Curtis got what had happened that night at the hospital. He heard his father talking to the nurses, Lara sobbing. He's always known his youngest brother almost didn't survive. Lara, through no conscious fault of her own, painted Darry as Pony's guardian.

Pony's eyes weaken at the mention of his brother. "_Ask him_," I insist.

His voice cracks. "I trusted you." His green eyes, so much like his mothers, are pleading. "Just leave me alone – my brothers too."

I advance; a need for warning coming to call. I reach out, grabbing his thin wrist. "You need to be careful…I don't know what will hap—"

He wrenches out of my grasp. "Screw you Everett!" Pony cries, harsh words coming from such a forceful creature. "Send me back. Now."

I do.

*

I leave the house the next morning before anyone is up. It's around seven in the morning, the sky a dusty gray. The bus ride downtown is barely noticeable. Thoughts keep tumbling around in my brain; the dream, Everett, my mom.

My chest hurts but I refrain from touching it; as if acknowledging it will make Everett right. I rest my head against the window, exhausted. If it's true then what the hell have I been doing the last 15 years?

It's like I wasn't supposed to exist and here I am waiting to be rectified.

I take the elevator to the sixth floor of the hospital. "Excuse me," I ask the front desk. "I'm looking for a nurse…"

The woman – a nurse – grins. "Well, you've come to the right place." She sets aside her coffee. "Now what can I do for you, hon?"

"I'm looking for a nurse who was working maybe three weeks ago…blonde hair…cross necklace…"

"Oh, that's probably Alice. She works in delivery; I'll page her."

I go sit in the waiting area, chewing my thumbnail. I keep my eyes on my feet, the tiled floor, refusing to give the hospital any of my attention. A pair of loafers slide into my vision.

"Ponyboy?"

"Oh…hey, Chris." I sit up, running a hand through my hair.

Chris Meigs raises an amused brow. "Are you waiting on someone or hanging around just for kicks?"

"Waiting on someone."

"All's well I hope," he says, glancing at his clipboard. "I don't see anyone here admitted under Curtis."

"Give it a few months," I mumble.

His laugh is deep; not fitting his slim, gangly appearance. "I gotta go, Pony. I'll see you around." Chris flips me a wave. As he rounds the corner, I get cold feet.

I leave the waiting room behind, heading for the blinking neon sign that reads EXIT. I'm about to shove the door open when my breath hitches. I grab the wall. I sink down to the ground, squeezing my eyes shut.

The floor's cool when I hit it.

*

Alice Waters is kind. She dabs my forehead with a wet washcloth. She helps me sit up on the exam room table. Her hand comes out once more to dab but I stop her. "It's ok."

The washcloth halts in mid-air. She takes the blood pressure cuff off, checking my readings. Alice purses her lips. Her white-blonde hair is up in a bun, the gold cross glitters around her neck. She busies herself, pulling out a stethoscope. She eyes me, squirming. "Lay still. I'm not finished with you."

"I'm sorry if I scared you the other day," she continues. "It's just that…well…I delivered you. But I take it you found that out since you were looking for me."

"Yeah…" I give her a small grin. "I heard some rumors."

Alice raises her eyes to the ceiling, blinking. "There were complications… I was stupid…young. I ran out before I heard you survived…and then I saw your name on that chart…and I just had to see you. You know, I sent your family a letter every Christmas." She giggles. "Just to check up on you."

"Did they ever write back?" I ask, feeling somehow guilty.

"No," she begins slowly. "They never did. But I understand…it was traumatic. They probably just wanted to forget altogether." Alice smiles. "You know, your mother wanted you so bad…she would have done anything."

Alice tucks the ear buds of the stethoscope in her ears, drifting over to me, placing the head of it on my chest. "Take a breath," she commands.

I do.

"Hmm…" Alice removes the stethoscope. She puts it away and then places her bare hand on my chest.

"What's wrong?" I ask, not liking the silence.

She gives me the stethoscope.

_La dub. La dub_. The beat of my heart is loud. And odd. As I listen, an odd sort of imminent fate overwhelms me; it _frightens_ me. Calmly, I tug the stethoscope away when all I really want to do is hurl it across the room.

"Ponyboy," Alice begins, taking the stethoscope back from me. The long cord wrapped around her hand like a snake. "Have you ever had heart problems?"

"No."

"Well, ah. It might be a murmur."

"What's that?"

"Like a flutter. The heart's off with its beat. That could be why you've been passing out." I must look doubtful because she adds, "I'd suggest seeing a doctor."

I hop off the table. "I have to go."

Eagerly, Alice follows me outside into the hallway. "It was nice to meet you." She clutches my hand. "You have your mother's eyes."

She pulls me closer. "See a doctor."

*

"You knew all along this would happen," I accuse. Ponyboy Curtis has kept quiet for six days, acting nonchalant, unperturbed. Ponyboy treats Darry with cool standoffishness. He isn't upset with his brother, just building up a surplus of questions for when the time is right. Pony glimpses Darry in a new light: keeper of secrets, his parents' confidante, grudging protector…

But it's affecting me, if not him. When I watch him laughing, smiling, it causes pain. Something I rarely experience.

Iris sips her wine. "Some can beat me." She raises the glass in toast. "You should know that. It happened 15 years ago."

"But you aren't going to let it happen again."

"We'll see." She shrugs. "You have to be careful. You want to hover, help. You'll take his strength."

"You want that." I rise, removing my hat.

Her black eyes glare at me. "I want him to play. If he beats me…it's fair. He can live."

"He's not a game."

"Everything is."

"Damn you, Iris."

*

Pony doesn't see it coming. He leaves Pop's Diner, saying goodbye to Pat and his track buddies, tossing his smoke on the curb. It's sprinkling out, the August weather brewing. He shields his eyes against the rain, forgoes the bus for a walk and hoofs it down the street.

"Run, Ponyboy."

*

It whizzes by, hitting the brick wall to my left and exploding in a fierce burst. I drop my lighter. Another bottle blows up, shards of glass and liquid spraying me. I jump back.

Skelter's across the street, slinging glass bottles full of tequila. This spells trouble but I can't help but be amused. He can swing a punch and talk the talk but he's an idiot. Here he is tossing tequila bottles at me in the middle of broad daylight. How he built his rep years ago is beyond me. But I know why Darry's cautious of him; Skelter doesn't give up.

"Well, look who's here." One look at Skelter's face tells me he's still not ready to forgive my chickenshit comment.

I don't even want to bother. Turning on my heel, I walk off in the opposite direction, eyeing the chain length fence in front of me, planning to hop over it and be gone. There's movement behind me and then I'm slammed into the brick wall, Skelter's chest hitting mine. Grabbing my shoulders, he throws me to the pavement.

My leg snaps out and I hit his shin, hard. He grunts. Clamoring up, I trip once but manage to catch myself. I'm ready to run, hop that fence and get the hell out of there. Then something inside pops. I swear I can hear it.

It hits me hard, dizziness, pain, exhaustion and I'm down again, unable to run. Skelter kicks me in the stomach with his boot and I curl up. I wait for the next kick but there's nothing.

Skelter looks at me, giving me the okay that I can get up. "Slowly," he warns.

Regaining my footing, I wobble on the sidewalk, fighting dizziness by resting my palm against the wall. Skelter's smile is broad and bulldog ugly. "Go home," Skelter says. "Go home and say hi to your brother for me."

I tighten my grip on the wall, pulling myself to full height. "Which one?"

"Whichever one wants to fight."

I laugh. "It's easy to see how Sodapop kicked your sorry ass."

Skelter's smile disappears. "Real easy," he says, punching me in the stomach.

*

Ponyboy walks the short distance to the DX in a daze. He's a fool for opening his mouth – he know this as well as I do – but he's done worse and it could have been worse.

The door chimes jingle. "What brings you out here?" Soda's tongue is sticking out of his mouth as he counts the bills in the register. "Need an oil change?" There's a snort from somewhere in the back.

"He's greasy enough," an unseen Steve replies.

Ponyboy sits on a stool in the corner of the room, truly shaken. Not so much as he is by getting jumped by Skelter than the fact that he couldn't fight back. He can take a punch; not being able to run is something else entirely.

Here, in the dim light of the DX, is where Ponyboy Curtis begins to realize that something may be very wrong indeed.

Soda notices the quiet. "Pony, what is it?"

"I ran into Skelter." Ponyboy presses a hand against his chest. Soda rises from his chair. "He says hi." I brush by him, moving through the grungy garage, smelling the gas fumes.

"Did he hurt you?" Soda's asking, while already thinking—_I'm going to kill that bastard_.

Steve comes out from taking inventory, watching his best friend closely. Pony wards an approaching Sodapop off. "No, Sodapop. I just need to sit here, catch my breath. I'm okay. A punch ain't nothing new." Ponyboy tries to laugh but it's breathless.

"It's different when you're on the receiving end," Soda says in a calm voice. Yet his anger and guilt are palpable; his hands shake as he scrutinizes his brother's sweaty face.

Sodapop swears.

He hadn't even wanted to fight Skelter; Tim was the instigator. And when Darry said no, it was easy to say yes and then Two-Bit and Steve followed. Now, looking at his brother's pale face, Soda sees why Darry tried to veto the idea.

Although now, especially because of this, Soda won't back down.

"Christ kid," Steve says. "What'd you say to him this time?"

"It'll make you laugh," Ponyboy says between grit teeth. He leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.

Steve chuckles before turning to Sodapop. "I'm gonna take my truck and go back over that fucker." Steve's shameless. He'll act annoyed with the kid until he's blue in the face, but when push comes to shove, he cares.

I know this.

"We'll get him," Soda says, causing Ponyboy to open his eyes. Soda's anger isn't letting him think straight. He wants another fight; he'll win again.

"Oh, no, Sodapop. Don't do anything stupid."

"You let me worry about this." Soda gives him a carefree grin.

Pony isn't easily fooled. He crosses his arms.

*

"Tell him, Dar," Ponyboy insists, green eyes wide and insistent, like when he was a child.

Darry sides with Ponyboy. He looks at his two brothers, sitting in the middle of their bed, eyeing him. Pony looks so much like Soda and they both look so much like their mother, it just kills him.

"Don't you dare go after Skelter. It's just gonna land you in more deep shit and I don't want to deal with that."

Soda's mouth drops. "But, Darry. He went after Ponyboy…that's not ending it fair and square." He sounds like an instruction manual, holding all the rules to all the fights.

"Maybe so," Darry replies. "But I don't want _either_ of you hurt. Just forget it Sodapop." Darry turns to Ponyboy. "And you – no more smart ass remarks. I don't know if you're picking it up from Steve or God knows where but just cut it out."

Ponyboy juts his chin out, drawing his knees up on the bed. "It was worth it. Just to see the look on that idiot's ape face." Soda chuckles.

I shake my head at the exact moment that Darry does. Darry's eyes are so blue they're almost clear. "Why don't you _both_ listen to me?" he half-laughs, half-sighs. "It's like herding cats with you two."

Due to my deep concentration in the conversation, I bump into Ponyboy's dresser, knocking it with my knee. A book slides off and hits the ground. Bending down I inspect the fallen book; _Gone with the Wind_.

Ponyboy glances down too at the book and then his eyes inspect the air sharply. I wave at him even though he cannot see. When I go to straighten up, I unintentionally balance myself against Ponyboy Curtis. My hand glances off his shoulder.

I clear the air from the room, sucking everything into myself. It's habit and again, without realizing, I hinder him. The breath leaves his lungs. "Hey!" Darry says as Ponyboy sways, nearly toppling off the bed. Soda grabs his forearm to steady him.

"Does it still hurt?" Darry asks, as Ponyboy touches the left side of his chest. Soda left out of the loop, just watches, a frown burrowing his handsome face. "You haven't been smoking have you?"

Again, Fate throws a curveball, leading them all down the wrong path.

"Off and on," Pony mutters, ignoring Darry's disapproving frown. "It's okay, I'm just tired."

I stand over him, shaking my head. He thinks I'm doing this and that if he pushes and ignores, I'll give in and stop hurting him. All I want to do is yell that I'm not the cause of these factors.

It's Fate and it's Ponyboy. But he doesn't believe me.

He just can't.

*

Pardon typos, random errors and incessant mutterings.

Please read and review.


	13. Chapter 13

SE Hinton owns The Outsiders.

Warning for cursing.

Please read and review lucky Chapter 13…and may you be forewarned – it's a bit of a cliffie, if you want to get all technical.

Thanks!!

XIII. Lightweight

*

Everett's kept his distance. No word, no dreams, from the mysterious entity for a week. I'm annoyed, wanting to talk, wanting validation for my distant naggings. _You're sick_, they say. _You're sicker than you think_.

It's in my ears: _La Dub. La Dub_.

I hear my heart.

*

They're arguing. Raised voices I haven't heard in a while, followed by a calmer one, I recognize as Steve's. I slide inside, clicking the door shut softly.

"We couldn't help it, Darrel," Steve's saying.

"Right," I hear Darry snap. "You just walked into it."

Then it's Two-Bit. "It was just a few Mazeltov cocktails. No big deal."

Darry doesn't bother correcting him. "Those are illegal."

"His car was a piece of shit Buick," Steve says. "He won't miss it."

"That's not the point." Something rustles, possibly Darry moving around to stare them all down. "Do any of you idiots realize Pony is 15? The state can still take him away."

"I didn't forget, Dar." Soda's voice is hard. "I ain't stupid; no one's gonna catch us. I just ain't gonna let that son of a bitch beat up on my brother."

So, Soda fought after all. For once, we're all at odds over a rumble. Darry and I don't want it; Soda and Steve are chomping at the bit while Two-Bit settles in the middle, albeit still fighting. It's divisive. But Soda wants to solve this his own style.

"_I_ don't want that either," Darry says harshly, offended at Soda's insinuation. "But if you think throwing a couple of flaming bottles at Skelter is going to send him a message…well…you're way off base."

Soda tries on his charm. "Ah, c'mon, Darry you don't need to worry ab—"

When Darry speaks next it's lethal. "I told you once, Sodapop. I ain't telling you again." You can practically hear everyone in the kitchen snap their mouths shut. Darry pauses and then calls out, "You coming or going, Ponyboy?"

Caught at eavesdropping, I enter the kitchen, looking at Two-Bit who's cleaning his nails with his switchblade. "They're called Molotov cocktails, Two-Bit." Darry grunts, busying himself at the sink.

"Words from the wise." Two-Bit shoves a chair at me and I sit. "Where've you been smarty?"

"Staying out of trouble, which is more than I can say for you." Soda won't meet my eyes; whether or not he feels guilty or is embarrassed at getting chewed out by Darry in front of everyone is hard to gauge.

I rest my elbow on the table, toying around with Darry's college application packet. Now that Darry doesn't have to work two jobs thanks to his promotion, he's planning to apply. We're all trying not to make a big deal out of it, but I already have my graduation speech prepared. I pick up the University of Tulsa catalogue wondering if and when I'll go.

"What can I say?" Two-Bit drawls. "Just lucky I guess."

Darry's at the counter making sandwiches. He rolls his eyes at Two-Bit and then points at me with the butter knife, coated in mayonnaise. "You want some dinner?" he asks.

"Not hungry."

Sighing, Darry hands the sandwich to Two-Bit who's already waiting with outstretched arms. "Of course you aren't."

*

"I have something for you," Iris says two weeks later, handing me a thin white piece of paper.

I take it, unfurling the scroll. "Oh no." I set the paper aside. "This is not good."

"It's interesting is it not?" Iris thinks. "They converge…but the outcome it's…"

"Undecided," I finish, watching her face closely. She seems unperturbed by the news but she's famous for her unannounced fits.

"And how do you feel about that, Iris? A wrench thrown in your plans?"

She affects surprise and insult. "Everett, I like both of them. I don't want anything _bad_ to happen. And as you see there," She points to the paper. "It may not." Iris smiles. "Perhaps coincidence?"

"Yes, coincidence," I echo, reading the paper again.

It shows two lifelines: one Ponyboy Curtis's, the other Sodapop's. They're separate and then connect at a distant point in time. Their lifelines are dotted, meaning anything can upset the balance, sway their fate.

A full lifeline, completely colored in, means it'll happen. At least, it _should_ happen, unless something powerful has its way.

Ponyboy Curtis's usually are dotted. The one at his birth was colored in.

"You're going to tell him, aren't you?" Iris asks, reading my mind.

"Of course I am."

*

"I know why," Ponyboy breathes. His eyes are glassy when he looks at me, face feverish.

"Why what?"

"Why it says this. It's because of Soda and Skelter. I just have to tell Soda to stay away. He has to listen to me. He will…I'll make him…" Pony says, his voice running on and on, trying to convince himself.

I'm almost sorry I told him, knowing his world will now be consumed with watching his brother. But it's a way to make it up to him, for all my faults.

He shoves the paper at me. "You said this is vague, right? It doesn't have to happen."

"Correct. Which is why I told you." Pony doesn't say thank you and I don't take it to heart. Granted, he's still upset. "But that doesn't mean it won't," I caution. "So be on the lookout."

He doesn't ask to go, so I say, "Ponyboy. May I ask how you feel these days?"

Ponyboy closes his eyes. "Shut up, Everett."

That's when I make my mind up. If he won't tell anyone, I will.

*

"You sure it's okay that I'm here, Two-Bit?"

"Shit yeah. 'Sides it's slow tonight; my boss ain't gonna care." Two-Bit leads me into the back room of the bar he works at. A poker table stands at attention, two or three guys sitting around it, shuffling cards. "We serve underage kids all the time."

"Darry's gonna love that," a voice sneers, coming from the shadows.

"Hey Tim," Two-Bit says, all business. "You come here to play?"

Soda and Steve have started holding monthly poker matches in the back of the bar. It just gets too loud at our house with all the people that join. Darry plays but around midnight he starts getting tired…and a tired Darry gets grumpy. Plus, the way people were breaking lamps and spilling beers every ten minutes took its toll too.

"I did," Tim replies. "But now I want to talk to Sodapop. He here yet?" Tim runs a hand down his scruffy cheek.

"Nope." Sometimes I hate seeing Tim Shepard. He reminds me all too much of Dallas Winston.

"You hear what happened to Curly and Angel?"

Two-Bit crosses his arms. "I didn't."

"That fucker Skelter went after them yesterday. Tried running them off the road. Angel's okay… shook up a little bit, but Curly he…" Tim rolls his eyes, shaking his head. "Let's just say he took a pretty good beating. Broke some ribs. He ain't complain though. Kid's tough."

"Shit," Two-Bit swears. "It's probably because of those damn Mazeltov cocktails we were hurlin at him the other day. Payback for this one." He tries to ruffle my hair but I shake him off.

"Molotov," Tim and I say in unison. Tim chuckles, giving me a look. "I don't give a damn about that. What I do give a damn about is ending this. This back and forth shit is getting old."

A chill goes through me, _this is so not good_, I think. But I keep my trap shut because no one would listen to me. If I look at it logically it makes sense; it's what we would normally do in a rumble, in any fight between Soc and Grease. Keep going at it until one of us caved. Skelter's messing with people indirectly involved and Tim isn't having that.

No one's considering that Skelter's most probably crazy and we're all hammering nails in our coffins. Everyone but me is looking on the bright side. And I probably would be too if I didn't have Darry and Everett breathing down my back, talking sense.

The door behind us opens and Steve and Sodapop join the room. Tim claps Two-Bit on the shoulder, leaving us to discuss the latest with Sodapop. Soda's laughing grin fades as Tim begins talking but Soda keeps nodding and the icy feeling in the pit of my stomach won't go away.

*

It's the day I've been dreading for a while: cleaning out the basement.

There, I know, we'll stumble upon our parents' stuff and have to decide what to toss or keep. Darry's been meaning to do it for a while and since he finally has a three day weekend sees it as the perfect excuse. I stand at the bottom of the stairs watching him. He's crouched in a corner trying to pull some cardboard boxes into the meek daylight drifting in from the windows. "Hit the light will you, Pone?"

I flip the switch. Darry glances up, dust on his face. "You up for this?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Darry chuckles. I join him in the corner of the room, tugging out random boxes, old Christmas ornaments and Darry's shoeboxes full of baseball cards. "How many did you have?" I ask in awe. The cards are overflowing, spilling out of the boxes. Darry picks one up.

"Tons. Mom finally told me if I got anymore she was gonna use them as kindling."

"I think she told Sodapop that too about his car magazines."

We're quiet for a moment, each recalling our own individual memories. Trying to shake them off, I pull the cedar chest out of the corner. It's heavy and I have to use two hands. Reaching over, Darry grabs one of its legs re-adjusting it for me so I have a better hold. On my knees, I grip the heavy corner, dragging it closer. I pause a moment, resting both hands on the cement floor, to catch my breath.

"You all right, kiddo?" Darry leans over to touch my cheek. "You don't look too hot."

"I think I'm getting a cold or something." I give him a small grin, showing him it's okay to shrug it off. "So, how'd Soda weasel out of this?" I ask, opening the lid.

"He's working today." Darry examines a piece of paper, frowns and then balls it up, trashing it.

"No he ain't," I murmur, suddenly finding a wealth of photos of our parents buried inside the cedar chest. I reach inside, taking one of them in my palm. It's my mom, pregnant, sitting on the porch steps, holding Soda by her side.

"He's not?" Darry's sharp tone calls me back. I glance up, on the verge of realizing my mistake.

"He told you he had to work?"

"Yeah. He did."

The nerves in the pit of my stomach begin churning, telling me something is wrong. I remember the conversation between Soda and Tim the other night and I know Soda's still pushing. He's not going to listen to Darry – or anyone.

"Well, he _probably_ is at the DX—"

"You don't have to make excuses for him, Ponyboy. I have a pretty good idea what he's up to." Darry's eyes narrow. "Powwowing with Tim." He sits back on his heels, face tired. "He should be here for this anyways. It's important."

That's true; although I don't think Sodapop is that cold-hearted or callous to blow this off. He just forgot. And as mad as I am at Sodapop, lord knows he's backed up my own stupid mistakes more than once. It doesn't help that my recent dream has me on edge.

"Here." I hop up, handing Darry the photo. He looks surprised but takes it, his face softening. "I'll go find him," I say, trying to right Soda's wrong. It's oddly discomfiting to see Darry pissed off at Sodapop; usually it's me.

"No, Pony, you don't have to—"

"I'll be right back, Darry."

*

"Whoa – kid!" Two-Bit says as I run up to the DX. He's sitting on a tire reading a _Playboy_ magazine.

"Is Soda here?"

Steve finishes pumping some gas into a nicely worn Corvair. He replaces the nozzle, screwing on the gas cap. "It's his day off. You should know that genius."

"Well, Darry seems to think he's working. Where'd he go, Steve?" Steve ignores me. I give him a look. "He was supposed to help me and Darry clean out the basement." Steve picks up a windshield wiper and I notice that the car is Tim's.

I snag the windshield wiper from Steve. "Was _Tim_ here?"

"Yeah, he was." Steve's annoyed. "Now can you give me that back, kid? I'm not in the mood to play 20 questions." He holds his hand out.

I don't give it to him. "I know you're fixin to rumble." My heart's pounding; the most recent dream Everett's given me, creeping into my veins.

Surprised, Steve and Two-Bit glance at each other. "Did you tell him?"

"Stevie, give credit where credit is due," Two-Bit says, miming locking his lips.

"Two-Bit where's Soda?"

Two-Bit hesitates, flipping through the pages of the magazine. "He, uh, went to talk to Tim."

I move around the car, near Two-Bit. "You can't fight." He blinks, surprised at the seriousness in my voice.

"Oh? And what're you going to do about that?" Steve reaches out, ripping the windshield wiper from my hand. "Rat us out to Darry?" He walks back to the car, giving me an angry glare.

"Too late. He already knows." I fight the urge to light up a smoke, already annoyed with Steve Randle. "Look, you don't understand…I don't want Soda hurt – Skelter _hates_ him." I rest my hands on the car's hood.

Steve's face softens but his voice is still hard. "We ain't gonna let that happen." He snaps the other windshield wiper off, replacing it so expertly I'd miss it if I weren't watching. "No one'll get hurt."

My hands drop. "So you're gonna fight again?"

"Maybe. It ain't a sure thing." Steve snorts, wiping his hands off. "Geez, Pony, you're getting to be as bad as Darry."

Two-Bit laughs, opening the magazine to the centerfold. "That's scary." He elongates the magazine vertically to get a better view. Whistling, he cocks an eyebrow. "So is _that_."

*

I'm going to help Ponyboy out. He's standing in front of the DX, trying to laugh at what those two numskulls are joking about, when I know he feels so lost and confused. He can handle what's happening to him…his brothers are a different story.

I approach him. He's shaking; his chest aches. He won't let himself feel his youth, his hurt. Well, if he won't tell anyone, I will.

I keep my hat on but reach my hand out.

"Sorry." I wrap my hand around this thin bicep. I hold on, flooding him with my power, a bit longer than necessary. The zap simply fries him. His blood pulses, ice shredding his veins. And his heart; the beat ceases.

Steve sees it coming. "Two-Bit!"

In the nick of time, Two-Bit jumps off the tire, catching the kid in his arms. They both twist around, hitting ground. Two-Bit's eyes are wide. He lays his young friend on the dusty earth.

"Jesus." Two-Bit picks up Pony's hand, suddenly dropping it, and I know he's felt the absence of a pulse.

I squat beside the two of them. "Forgive me," I tell Ponyboy. "I was overzealous." I tap his chest with my finger. The beat starts up. My fault.

Eyes betraying nothing, Steve squats down, placing two fingers on the inside of Pony's wrist. Two-Bit squeezes his eyes shut as Steve pats the side of Pony's face. It's a light tap but even so the kid's lifeless. His head lolls to the side, pallor ashen.

"Let's get him home," Steve scoops him up.

*

I'm betting Darrel Curtis isn't expecting to see two of his best friends carrying his youngest brother through the front door. But as he rounds the hallway corner—thoughts on his two MIA brother's—that's just what he does see.

"Dar, he just hit the ground," Two-Bit says as Steve hands Pony off to Darry, Darry taking the light body gently in his arms. "We don't know what happened." Two-Bit's voice wobbles.

Darry places Ponyboy on the couch, sitting beside him. "How long has he been out?"

Steve and Two-Bit look at each other. "Twenty minutes."

"He didn't wake up? Say anything?" Mute, Two-Bit shakes his head. Darry eyes Steve. "Where's Soda?"

"Darry, Soda just—"

"He's with Tim ain't he?"

Jaw set, Darry turns away from Steve's excuses. Darry's worried; everything seemed to be looking up and now this.

His mind goes back to when he was six and the night at the hospital. Whenever something goes wrong, he always flashbacks to that night. "We have to take care of him," his mother had said to Darry, holding Ponyboy out in her arms to show her oldest son.

_This_ is where Darry Curtis gets his intensity. I rub my chin; funny how it's come full circle.

"Pony, c'mon, kiddo. Snap out of it." Darry grips his brother's hand, voice cool, commanding. "Pony. Open your eyes."

I claim the recliner as Two-Bit perches on the edge of the coffee table, holding his breath. A few minutes pass and then Steve hands Darry a wet washcloth. "What'd you want us to do, Dar?" Two-Bit asks.

"I don't know…" Darry murmurs. Two-Bit and Steve glance at each other again, uneasy.

I'm a bit worried myself that Pony hasn't come back yet. I meant to use my touch as an escape. Somehow he's still in it. I cross the room, meaning to wake the boy up. I think I've troubled everyone enough by now.

Stepping over Darry, I stand at the foot of the couch. I'm about to reverse my touch when the shaky little beat on Pony's left side stops on its own.

Pony's breath hitches. My jaw drops.

The quiet is blatant. "Ponyboy?" Darry's strong fingers wrap around his brother's wrist, engulfing it in one motion. No life beats there. Darry can feel it. He can see; no rise and fall of the chest. "Ponyboy." Darry squeezes his hand. "Wake up now."

_Wake up_, I urge. _What are you doing_?

"Darrell…" Steve says. He edges toward the phone.

Darry leans over, closer, to stare into the face of his nonexistent brother. I lean over as well, nearly panicking. And then I feel Pony twitch. Lightning strikes; he still can do it. I laugh aloud.

Darry's face is devoid of any color, thinking the worst. "Steve, call an am—"

In the instant it takes to make a heart stop, it's back. Ponyboy lurches on the couch, sucking in a breath so deep it scares the hell out of everyone in the room, including myself.

"Jesus Christ!" Two-Bit yelps, falling off the coffee table. Pony flails his arms, smacking Darry in the face as his brother reaches out. Doubled over, Darry clutches at his eye.

"Darry…," Pony says, ever so quietly. It's a whisper, a feather breath. He twists on the couch like he's burning up.

Darry, recovering slightly from his jab, pushes his brother's matted hair back, taking in the confusion, the feverishness of his cheeks. He grips Pony's shoulders so hard he'll leave bruising.

Pony arches his back. "God, it hurts."

"What does kiddo?" Darry glances over his shoulder. "Steve, can you get a glass of water?" Steve disappears into the kitchen. Two-Bit's distracted, watching Sodapop's truck pull into the driveway.

Darry helps him sit up. "Pony. What hurts?"

"My—." He breaks off. Pony leans over, knees touching his chest. "It hurts so damn much."

"It'll be okay, kiddo. We're going to the doctor."

Darry says the steps like they're magic; he'll do what is sane, normal in a situation like this and all will be right. Wrapping an arm around his brother, Darry gets him to his feet right at the exact moment Soda walks in.

Soda stares, open-mouthed. "Darry – what—" His eyes flicker to Ponyboy.

"Where've you been?" Darry snaps, irate at Soda's absence.

He has good reason to be – Soda lied, ignored his warnings – but still, the words come out harsh, grating, _accusing_. Darry has to deal with one thing at a time right now and Ponyboy's it. He can't think about anything else.

Pony keeps his eyes shut. "Darry…"

"I need the keys." Darry opens his palm. "I'm taking Pony to the hospital," he says to Soda. "Stay here."

*

Please read and review!! Pardon any typos…I've proofed this bad boy like twenty times but I know I'll see some once I post.


	14. Chapter 14

I own no one from The Outsiders.

Extra long chapter for all you Two-Bit lovers.

Please review and you'll make my day…my night…my universe.

Extra special thanks to Calla for her medical expertise.

XIV. Games We Play

*

"I'm sorry I punched you in the face, Dar."

"It's okay, Ponyboy." Darry's right eye is pink. The swelling has gone down but he's still squinting. "You got a good right hook in there."

I glance down at him from the exam room table, pulling the hospital gown tighter across the front of me. "I hate this," I mutter, trying to mask my fear. All this time I've been trying to tell myself nothing's wrong, but I can't hide anymore. Although I would've liked to. _Damn you, Everett, _I think, knowing he's behind this.

"I ain't too fond of it either." Darry says, checking his watch.

My foot's jumping a mile a minute. I'm debating whether or not to bring up Skelter and Sodapop, since now seems as good a time as any, when the door opens and the doctor steps in.

"Well…" Doctor Benson drawls, holding a white folder. I cross my arms, frowning.

I don't like the doctor. He's treated me like a test subject, saying nothing except "hmm" or "interesting" as he checked me over. His monotonous voice and detached attitude saying he'd rather be somewhere else. A sideways glance at Darry tells me my brother feels the same way.

"The test results came back." Doctor Benson pulls my chest X-rays from the folder. "They're not so good." Doctor Benson's eyes blink from behind his large glasses. The doctor sticks the x-ray films in front of what looks like a sheer picture frame. He flips a switch and they light up; my heart glows like the sun.

"Your brother's X-rays show an enlarged heart. We call this aortic stenosis. Can you see here…?" Benson points at the left side of my heart.

"Yes," Darry says, eyes glued to the x-ray. I sit very still, waiting, dreading.

"The left chamber isn't pumping as hard as it should, increasing pressure and decreasing blood flow," Benson continues. "In your brother's case it's exacerbated, which means a severe heart murmur. It's interesting to note that since he wasn't born with this it's a more recent development...an acquired condition." He looks at my chart almost giddily. "Very interesting indeed…"

Darry's focusing on his hands. He keeps making fists, balling them up tight and then releasing them. "So…what can we do?"

Benson strokes his beard, looking at me. "I understand that you're an athlete?"

I shrink back on the table. "Y-yes."

"And you smoke?"

"Yes."

"I see. Well, to minimize any more damage to yourself – your heart – you need to give them both up."

"I—I can't do that." It's the worst punishment I can think of—giving up track.

"He will," Darry says, as if I have no choice. He still won't look at me.

Taking off his glasses, Benson says, "Well, that will help _some_."

Darry finally glances my way. "Some?"

"Unfortunately, in his condition, there's not much else to do."

Tuning out, I cover the left side of my chest with my palm, suddenly conscious that my heart is a faltering object at the moment. Standing up, Darry walks over to me. He puts a hand on my shoulder. "That's _not_ an option. Tell me what we _can_ do."

Benson tries to appear sympathetic but fails miserably; he's busy, he just wants to go. He snaps my chart shut. "Mr. Curtis, there are some treatments, but let me stress there's really no _cure_ for something like this. Surgery is always on the table but that's quite expensive…" _For you_, his eyes say, "…and risky. I'd be remiss if I didn't say cardiac failure or infection is a strong possibility."

I stiffen beneath Darry's hand, not so much at the doctor's words, but more at my anger with Everett. He could have at least warned me about this; I have no idea what to do now.

"We're done here." Darry's voice is ice. "Let's go, Pony." He hands me my jacket. Confused, I hop off the table, managing to get my pants on before Darry nearly shoves me out of the room, hospital gown and all.

"We'll get a better doctor," Darry says, outside in the hallway. He's in front of me, resting a fist on the white wall.

"Who, Dar?"

When Darry turns around to answer, he gets a real funny look on his face, like he's going to be sick to his stomach but is trying to keep it in.

*

Fate and I watch them from shadows.

Darry tells Sodapop Curtis about what the doctor has said. Darry keeps his voice strong, emotions checked. "He'll be okay, Soda." Darry twists his coffee cup around and around on the table. No one mentions Skelter, he's insignificant compared to this. "I should have taken him in sooner. We knew he didn't feel so good."

Soda is staring at the tabletop; every now and then his eyes dare a glance the closed bedroom door. Ponyboy's inside pretending to sleep.

Fate nudges me. "Pony wants to talk to you. He's very upset."

"Shh, Iris. I'm trying to listen."

"You're afraid," she points out.

"Tell me something. Anything." I want some news to take back to him.

"I won't."

*

"You knew this would happen," Ponyboy accuses. To his brothers, he's asleep in his bed, when he's really here with me.

"I did it," I tell him. "You needed help. Denial wasn't working."

Pony's face is so young, his reddish-brown hair, white face glowing in the dim light. He is admirable; trying so very hard to be strong. He switches off and on, toying between taking his health seriously and then shrugging it off.

Pony touches his chest. I wince, wishing he wouldn't do that. "Am I dying? Are you going to kill me?" His eyes glisten in the shady dark. "And Soda, what about him?"

"I still show what I did before. Believe what you want, I want your secrets not your life." I put my hands out to calm. "Just…think of it as a game. Don't give up."

I pat my own chest and say the one thing I know. "Just don't let this stop."

*

The sun's bright the next morning when Ponyboy Curtis wakes up. He picks up his pack of smokes, moseying out into the living room. Suddenly remembering yesterday, he grudgingly puts the pack on the coffee table.

Physically and mentally, he feels worse than he ever has; Pony's a tough act to keep.

Outside on the porch, he squints into the sun. His eyes widen and he walks closer to the railing, watching the car pulling into the driveway opposite them. Chris Meigs exits the vehicle, briefcase in hand, cup of coffee in the other.

I grin, wondering if it's coincidence or fate. Pony grins too, a thought popping into his head. The boy's definitely picking up on the random connections of life.

_He's a doctor_, Ponyboy thinks. _He can help me. _That's_ why he's here._ I'm not sure if he's right or wrong but anything that keeps him going helps me out, messes with Iris. She deserves it and he deserves to have faith.

He wants to beat me.

Pony's excited at this latest development. So excited in fact that he hollers, "Darry!" not considering what a yell like that can do at this particular moment.

Inside, Darry spills his coffee all over his jeans. Rushing out, he finds his brother on the porch, grinning like a fool. Soda's soon to follow, shirtless, in boxer shorts, hair fluffed out, greaseless.

"Why're you yelling?" Darry exhales. "Kiddo?" Darry's chest tightens when Ponyboy looks at him with those green eyes.

Ponyboy points towards the house opposite theirs. "Chris Meigs."

*

Chris finishes listening to my chest with his stethoscope. He folds it together. "I hate to say this…but I have to agree with Doctor Benson." He sits on his pool table, wearing an orange Hawaiian shirt and flip flops. His game room doubles as an in-home exam office and I wonder how Darry feels about that.

"Even though he's a dick."

Chris winks at me and then turns to Darry and Sodapop. "It's not to say there's nothing we can do. There's surgery but before I suggest that…I'm hoping there are easier fixes." Hopping off his pool table, he sits on the chair across from me. "You need to ease off on the stress, smokes and I'm sorry to say this Ponyboy, but track."

"But I've been doing it for years," I insist. "I can't just stop—"

"Ponyboy," Soda says, sitting down next to me. "Just shut up."

Perplexed, Chris scratches his head. "I know. And normally people can have active lives but it's so advanced in you." He points at me. "Cut back on everything. My hope is that doing this will back it off some. But if you keep doing what you're doing, you'll continue passing out and your heart will just get worse. You can't afford that."

Darry won't sit. He keeps pacing the room which is driving Sodapop and me crazy. "But isn't he too young to have this…I mean…" Darry won't give up, grappling at facts, solutions.

"He _is_ young," Chris agrees. "But I've seen stranger. The weird thing is..." Chris looks over the tests he could run at home. "Pony clearly has aortic issues…but the other results…I can't discern. Weight loss, fever...you need to watch those."

I drop my eyes; _those_ are courtesy of Everett. Chris pulls out a business card. He gives it to Darry. "I'll be his physician. Don't worry about it."

Darry's shoulders slump in relief. "Thank you."

"After all it's the least I can do," Chris says, grinning. "He helped me move." Chris pats my hand. "I should have known something was up when Nurse Waters told me about you." It's barely noticeable but Darry pales. I keep my eyes on Chris and my mouth shut.

"Lay low for a while," Chris advises Darry. "Keep an eye on him and we'll check back in a week."

*

Two-Bit's telling good jokes. I can tell he's wired. He keeps wiping down the kitchen table in the same spot as before.

"What's with you?"I ask. But I'm jumpy too; knocking over the can of green beans and the mashed potatoes. They spill all over the floor, green juice going everywhere, globs of potatoes. "Damn it."

"I've had a beer." He gestures at the mess on the floor as I squat down. "What's your excuse Susie Homemaker?"

The towel's soaked as I wipe up the spill. "It's the weather. Makes me nervous." The wind's whipping through the blinds, black skies rolling in.

"Think a twister's coming?" Two-Bit asks, shutting the window.

I pause for a moment before standing up, catching my breath. So far, I've been fine since seeing Chris. I'm trying to lay low. "If it is, Darry and Sodapop better get home."

"What about Steve?"

"What about him?" I raise an eyebrow, turning the stove on.

Two-Bit hoots. "Kid, you're heartless!" Suddenly, he pales, snapping his mouth shut. "Shit. I didn't mean that…"

I wave him off. "It's okay Two-Bit." I fight with another can of vegetables, the can opener sticking on the tin lid. "You better work on your comebacks though." I give him a smile.

Two-Bit runs a hand through his hair, his sideburns are longer than I've ever seen them. "So, uh, the doc say anything new?" He goes to get a beer from the fridge but doesn't open it. He's staring at the photo Darry's stuck to the freezer door. It's the one of my mom and Sodapop; me in her belly.

"Nope." I busy myself with dinner, dumping the can of carrots in another pot. The food should be appealing but I have no appetite. "I go back next week, after school starts."

"Pony…" Two-Bit's voice is low. "Get down."

"Two-Bit, what're you—?" My eyes widen as I see that the gust of wind outside has picked up; it's a near howl. Then, the tree in the neighbor's yard slams through our backdoor and the lights go out.

*

"Goddamn twister," Two-Bit whispers. "I knew it."

"I can't see a thing." I hiss.

"It's black as shit," Two-Bit whispers again.

"Nice image," I whisper and then catch myself. "Wait? Why are we whispering?"

"You always whisper in the dark, kid. Didn't you know that? It's good luck."

"You're full of it, Two-Bit." I laugh but find myself actually considering his words.

It's pitch black outside and having the electricity knocked out everywhere isn't helping. It's only five in the evening but it could double as midnight. In the distance, I can hear vague sirens of all types. Crawling around on my hands and knees, I feel for the living room.

Finally, I touch carpet.

I sigh. "I hope Darry and Soda are okay." _Even Steve._

"They're fine," Two-Bit snaps. "We're the idiots, slaving away over dinner while everyone else flees for safety…" His griping continues until he abruptly cuts off, sucking in a breath.

"Two-Bit?"

"I possibly, might have, 75 percent sure stepped on glass." He's quiet and then exhales. "Yep. Definitely glass."

I wince. "I'm soaked in beer too," he grumbles.

"That," I say, "Does not surprise me." My chest gives a flutter and I freeze. I hear Two-Bit scurrying around.

"I suppose now's the time to tell you that I hate clowns."

"That's kind of ironic, considering you pass as one every day." I rub the left side of my chest, thankful it's dark.

"That hurts, Pony."

"Fine," I mutter, giving in. "Party clowns or rodeo clowns?"

"Party. I swear to god they're all crazy with their little red noses and frizzy hair. I mean, why dress like that? Really, for fun? One day they're gonna be at some poor schmuck's birthday and just go off." Noticing my quiet, Two-Bit asks, "Kid? You okay?"

"No."

"What's wrong?"

"You're still talking."

"You're a smartass."

"Two-Bit," I ask, taking advantage of his honesty. "Is it over with Skelter?"

"I have no idea. I'm just along for the ride."

I flop onto my back, getting some relief from the pressure in my chest. It's funny what people can admit to when they can't see each other. "I think…someone's gonna get hurt. Me or Sodapop." I amend this. "I _know_ it."

Two-Bit's quiet for a long time. "Don't think like that. You'll both be fine. We won't let nothin happen." He swears as he knocks the lamp over, trying to stand up. More glass shatters. You'd think he'd know the house by now. "I'm lying down," he announces. The house sways in the wind.

"That's a good idea."

"I remember when that picture was taken."

"Which one?"

"The one on the fridge." He laughs. "Let's just say Darry was not excited about you."

I smile in the blackness. "I can imagine."

"He'd whine and complain about another brother…but well, the minute you came along…he got…bossy." I hear him smile in the dark.

"So that's where it started," I murmur. We both yawn. It'd be so easy to sleep. Tornadoes are a dime a dozen, usually we make it to the basement but right now it's calming. I think of Everett, wondering what else he knows…what he's not telling me…

Headlights flood the yard, illuminating the inside of the house. Two car doors slam, voices shouting at each other. Soda's swearing a blue streak at something.

"Bring in the cavalry," Two-Bit drawls. "Sound the alarms…"

"Send in the clowns…" I laugh.

"That's confidential!" Two-Bit yelps.

"Pony!" Darry yells as he opens the door.

"Jesus Christ," Soda curses. "I can't see a goddamn thing." He kicks at something in the room and the coat rack falls over, bouncing off Darry's recliner.

"Speak for yourself," Two-Bit says. Darry shines the flashlight on him. I turn my head; Two-Bit's lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He's nearly in the hallway, the lampshade sitting on his chest.

"Where's Ponyboy?" Soda asks.

"Thanks, Sodapop, I'm safe. Not maimed. Clearly in one piece." Two-Bit blinks at the light and then raises an eyebrow. "He's around. Let's play hot and cold."

"Two-Bit!"

"Here, Darry," I mumble before Darry can start in on him. The flashlight switches to me. I'm lounging by the couch, looking upward at both my brothers. I wave at them. "Howdy."

Relief flickers on Soda's face. "Right back at ya."

I roll onto my side, smiling as I see my two brothers in one piece. "Are you two okay?"

Soda kneels next to me. "We are now."

*

It's going to get harder. He doesn't know it yet but I do. From what Fate, dear Iris, tells me, he won't die yet, but it's not going to be painless.

I'm trying to stay away but I watch them when I can. Darry has lit candles and they all sit in the dark, tornado over and done with. The house is messy but in shape. The only disaster the back door caved in by the oak tree.

Ponyboy and Two-Bit are teasing each other. Pony's on his back, gripping his stomach from the laughter, both of them— Two-Bit and Pony – feel the pressure, the release. They mean a lot to each other, those two. They connect on a whole other level; one rare for each of them. Two-Bit isn't afraid to act serious in front of Pony and Ponyboy gets goofy.

Ponyboy, long-legged and skinny, sits up. His eyes are glassy, face red. Soda, sitting next to him in the middle of the floor, evaluates the mess. "I really don't want to clean this up," Soda mutters. "So why don't you?" He hugs his brother, tickling his ribs. Pony giggles, tugging away from Sodapop only to get ambushed by Two-Bit.

Darry sits, resting his back against the couch. "This house _has_ seen better days." But his eyes are on his brothers, hoping Pony's recent diagnosis was a fluke, hoping Sodapop backs off of Skelter, his teenage rebellion, whatever it is Soda feels he has to prove.

Because Darry feels the worry too. Chris Meigs gave him hope but not much; he's still wary. He's feeding off me and Ponyboy.

I infect everything I touch.

*

Pardon any typos.

Review please!


	15. Chapter 15

Sorry for the long time between updates. Got my groove back…

I may have time to update again today…so can I bribe you with reviews? ;)

SE Hinton owns The Outsiders.

Cursing in this chapter.

XV. Calculations

*

I give Ponyboy another dream.

Perhaps his most precious.

*

The glass from the windshield should crunch beneath my feet. But it doesn't. Because I don't exist. I never exist long enough to matter.

But they do.

The car is crumpled; hit by another, pushed into a stop sign and righted against a tree. The highway so lonesome and snowy; final throes of death echoing in the night. No witnesses, no gawkers have arrived to stare at the wreckage. I do prefer these quiet times; the peaceful moments where there are no interruptions.

Although it's such a sad moment. Especially for the ones who will get the news.

I lean down into the passenger's side window. The woman's auburn hair is now bright red. "I know you. You saved." The woman smiles, trying to lift a hand. "You were good to me then."

"Honey, hang on," Darrel says, thinking she's fading already, when really, she's never been more correct in her life.

Although, saving really isn't my forte.

I glance at the husband and ask, "What did you love about life?" The token question. I keep the answers logged in my memory; comparing against others', against the past.

"Lara," he says. "My boys."

"Yes," Lara agrees. "Our boys."

Darrel sighs, complacent, tired. "Wait for me?" He's nearly gone, using up his energy to touch his wife's face.

Lara reaches for her husband. "No…"

Darrel doesn't respond; slumping in the driver's seat. His handsome face stoic, last breath breathed.

"I'm sorry it has to end this way." I take my hat off. Lara's face screws up.

"I—I don't want them to forget us." Her green eyes go very large. "I want to say goodbye."

"You can't. I'm sorry. Last words?"

There's a long silence and I wait, letting her get final thoughts together. Lara begins to drift, her remarks rambles. "Darry…he's strength. I hope he never loses it…loses sight of _them, _ofhimself. And Soda's so sweet, my happy boy. He deserves to live in the sun…"

She shuts her eyes for a brief pained moment. I move in.

"Ponyboy."

The name startles me and I freeze, shaking off what is ours. The connection.

"What's inside and outside him will always be the same. He loves to learn…to _know_. I hope he never stops caring…" She coughs and sobs at the same time.

It's hard for her, summing up her children in few sentences. But she does it and I understand. She has to say these words to herself, these memories. Saying them aloud, telling someone, anyone, makes them real.

Lara looks at me. Green eyes wide. "I'm ready." I reach out and she doesn't flinch.

*

Ponyboy's sobbing; crying like he hasn't since the night his parents died, both sickened and grateful by the dream he's just had. Experiencing his parents' final moments can't have been easy.

Soda wakes, shushing, calming him. Soothing words drift around the room; words only Soda can speak. "It's okay, you were just dreaming," Soda says, wrapping his long arms around Ponyboy. He holds the boy tight.

Ponyboy listens to his brother's heart thumping beneath his gray DX t-shirt. He does the math in his head, squeezing his eyes shut. Five people from the past he's known have died; he can count them on one hand. He's dreamt about them all. And it terrifies him.

Because to imagine me taking anyone else that he loves – his brothers, his friends— makes his skin crawl. No more dreams; he can't handle it. In fact, if he had his way, he'd call out for me to take him instead.

*

I'm nervous around Sodapop. I can't help it. It's all Everett's fault with his vague warnings and dreams; he makes me so shook up I'm dying for a smoke. I haven't given in yet but there've been some close calls.

When Soda goes out one Saturday night with Steve, I give him the third degree, asking where he's going, when he'll be home. Soda gives me an amused look, ruffles my hair and leaves me to worry. I don't sleep; afraid to let Everett visit me.

"You're still up?" Darry asks, finding me lying spread out on the couch. Standing over me, he looms like a giant.

"Yeah, can't sleep."

Nudging me over, Darry makes room for himself on the couch, reaching over to grab my math homework. He inspects it with a critical eye. "How's this going?"

School's been in for two weeks and even though the work is easy, I can't concentrate. It's hard getting back into the groove when my mind's focused on something else entirely. Plus, every time I pass the track I resist the urge to break into a run. I'm trying to keep Chris Meigs's advice in the back of my mind; if for nothing else to keep Darry sane.

"It's going," I reply. I grin, sitting up. "Speaking of school, have you applied to University of Tulsa?"

"No, not yet."

"Well, why not?" My eyes drift to the TV where a local reporter is narrating the excitement at the county fair. I raise an eyebrow as they show the "World's Fattest Pig".

"It wasn't anything for sure," Darry says, getting my attention.

"What do you mean, Dar? I thought you were…"

"Just an idea. Maybe next year." He says this so lightly I know he's lying to me. Awkwardly, he pats my knee. "Ok, kiddo?"

I flop back against the couch, face hot. _He's not going because of me_. I know Darry well enough by now to understand that I'm his focus and nothing else. When Soda dropped out of school, Soda was Darry's concern for those jobless, worried two months.

I cross my arms, feeling my heart beat pump in my chest. Sometimes I really hate it.

*

The locker's tinny ricochet echoes down the hall as I slam it shut, grappling history, math and science textbooks in one arm. The halls are crowded; kids making it back from lunch, gym. I glance around halfway expecting to see Two-Bit launch himself at me or Steve's dark scowl but not this year. It's a relief and a rare feat that Two-Bit both graduated and has some form of a job.

"Hey! Curtis!" The voice sounds out through the din. I turn around, juggling the books, to see Pat approaching me at a near gallop.

"What're you still doin here, man?" he asks, eyes wide. Pat grabs my shoulders.

"Well, it was a school day and I figured I'd make an appearance so…" I give him a look. "What's wrong with you?"

Pat's hands fall to his side. "Oh shit, Curtis. You haven't heard."

My stomach twists around. "Heard what? Pat! What happened?"

He stares at me. It's like a punch to the gut when he says, "The DX, man. There was some kind of explosion…I heard when I was out at lunch…"

The air falls away for a moment, colors go funny as I prop a hand against the locker, letting the books tumble to the floor. Sodapop fills my thoughts and then suddenly, I'm turning to run. Pat stops me, gripping my elbow. "I'll give you a ride."

I nod mutely.

*

The first thought that crosses my mind as we park a mile away from the DX is: _this can't be happening_.

But it is. From the distance, I see the rising smoke and spitting flames and know that it is very real. There are so many cops and fire trucks we can't get any closer. My head and chest thump like a time bomb.

"You gonna be ok?" Pat asks as I make a move for the door handle. "I can wait."

"No. No." I tell him, numbly climbing out of the car. I see Darry's truck parked a few spots away. I walk a few dull paces and then I break into a run. My arms pump, side stitches up, but the release has never felt as good or as bad as it does now.

When the DX comes into view the whole left side is charred black. A gas pump sits there, a pick-up truck nestled against it, smoking, flames jumping all around as the firefighter's hose it down. Off to the side, spectators ogle the burnt building, police officers telling them to stay back.

Everett can't be right. He can't.

I slow down, taking it all in and then panic overtakes me. It's like flashes of Windrixville all over again; the burning, the flames…

"Soda!" I shout, launching myself forward. There's sudden movement beside me and a pair of strong arms grips me around the waist. Struggling, I fight to get free but the arms hold me firm and the fight goes out of me.

Darry spins me around, holding both my hands tight. "It's ok. It'll be ok."

I pull back to look up at him. "Darry, where's Soda? What happened?"

Darry looks old and tired. He looks scared too. "A gas pump exploded…some drunk fool ran their truck into it. It just caught fire and went up. My boss heard it on his police scanner."

"Where's Soda?" I repeat in a small voice.

He takes a shaky breath. "I— they don't know…they've been looking for him and Steve..."

"No," I whisper and back up. "They're ok." I can't imagine us…seven to five, five to three… I will my knees not to buckle.

Darry eyes me. "Pony...sit down."

Someone from behind blocks my escape. I spin around to face a pale Two-Bit. "I came to find you at school," he tells me, trying to smile. "You beat me here."

My chest twitches. I sit down on the curb and put my head in my hands. Two-Bit and Darry do the same, bookending me.

*

Twenty minutes later, there's a victorious yelp from inside the DX. The three of us freeze on the curb, waiting, breaths held. Finally, a policeman emerges, giving a wave. "We found 'em!"

"He's smiling," Two-Bit says. "I take that as a good sign?"

Darry nods, giving reassurance. "I think so." He rubs my back, exhaling whatever he's been holding in for the last hour.

Two-Bit hoots as the police lead out Steve and Sodapop. Both of them are covered in soot but they appear unharmed, bickering with each other. Darry and I are on our feet, rushing over, past the police tape.

"Soda!" I scream, flinging my arms around my brother. I've never been so thankful in my life. Soda grabs me up and then I feel Darry hug the both of us.

"Where the hell were you?" Darry asks Sodapop, when he lets us go. It's chaos: everyone talking, trying to get the story, take each other in.

"You smell like a goddamned barbeque," Two-Bit exclaims, clapping Steve on the back, hugging his friend the best he can.

Soda shrugs. "We were taking inventory when we hear this _boom!_ and suddenly there's smoke everywhere….Steve's crying…I mean it really was a mess." Steve gives Soda the finger.

"We found them in the basement," the cop interrupts, wanting to tell the official story. "One of the tool cabinets blocked the door which made it difficult to find them. They were locked down there together for about two hours."

"Yeah," Steve interjects with a laugh. "For once inventory saved our fucking life." He takes a look around. "Now I gotta take a fucking piss."

Soda rolls his eyes, wrapping an arm around his friend. "Stevie, if you wanted to play seven minutes in heaven all you had to do was ask."

Darry scowls. "Glad you can laugh about it. You nearly gave me a goddamned heart attack."

Soda just wiggles his eyebrows at Darry and they begin bantering. Darry shakes his head, wrapping an arm around Soda's neck. I just watch Soda; his eyes are dark, still laughing, still alive.

*

The next night he wants to talk to me. His thoughts radiate from his body, a mesh of anger, confusion and energy. So I go to him, leaving him slumped on the couch like a ragdoll.

"Was that it, Everett?" Pony demands. "Soda's near-death whatever you want to call it?"

"No, I'm sorry," I say. "You'll be involved in that too, if it happens. It's a cross over."

Ponyboy looks like he has questions but then shakes his head. "I don't want to know." He runs a hand through his messy hair. "So then what was that?"

"Just life. He was never in any danger. He was safe in that basement." I hand him a cigarette.

Ponyboy examines it. "Is it cheating if I smoke it here? Does it count?" The smoke lights automatically but he just holds it. He lets it burn to ash and then sits on the black floor.

"I have a favor to ask."

I sit across from him. "Yes?"

"Can I barter, trade?"

"Meaning…?"

"If something _has_ to happen to either one of us…me or Soda…make it me." He stops me before I can protest. "I can't take the dreams…the memories anymore. After yesterday…" He breaks off.

"Go on."

"After yesterday…I can't lose them. I'd rather be on the receiving end. I can take that."

"Don't you think they'd say the same thing?"

"But I've _had_ my chances." His eyes are so bright. "_Please_."

The thought of taking any of them when they've fought so hard is tough. I haven't received any memos recently so I'm not without hope that Fate's been changed.

"I can't promise. But I can ask."

"Ok."

"Ok."

*

I pop the lasagna into the oven; my thoughts are on yesterday's chat with Everett. I wonder who he has to ask and then decide I don't want to know. I know too much as it is.

For the last two nights, Darry, Steve and Soda have been helping the owner of the DX – Tom Maccallan – rebuild the south side wall. Darry won't admit it but he can't wait to see how the two of them fare at construction.

The phone rings as I'm about to leave the kitchen. I grab it up. "Hello?"

"Hey kiddo."

"Hey, Sodapop."

"We're going to be late." He lowers his voice. "Darry's killin me over here. Now I know why we don't work together." In the background I hear Steve swearing and Darry yelling.

I chuckle. "How's Steve taking it?"

"It's…interesting. They may have to go to counseling after—" He breaks off. "Darry! I told you, that's—" Soda sighs. "I gotta go. Like I said, we'll be late. See ya."

The dial tone buzzes in my ears. When I go to hang up, reaching out to replace the receiver, I knock the jar of tomato sauce off the counter. It shatters, glass and tomatoes sitting in a pile on the ground. I search for some paper towels underneath the sink. Not finding any there, I hop up on the counter, on my knees, reaching up into the higher cabinets for the reserves.

As my fingers close around a paper towel roll, it happens. There's a crushing in my chest, as if Everett's reaching in and squeezing the hell out of my heart. My breath seizes and forgetting about the paper towels, I grip the counter with both hands, not wanting to fall.

It hits again – the pressure – and I manage to slide off the counter. My feet hit the floor, the strength going out of me. The kitchen goes black and white. I close my eyes, slumping to the tile.

*

Pardon any typos. Please review.


	16. Chapter 16

Another fast update for all the great reviews. Please read and review once again!

Cursing in this chapter.

SE Hinton owns The Outsiders. I merely love them.

Special thanks to Calla Lily Rose for her medical input.

XVI. Like a Rock

*

The floor beneath me is chilly, the temperature is soothing. I don't want to get up, twisting away from the hand on my back. "Hey," Soda murmurs. "Open your eyes. Wake up, kiddo." Somewhere in the distance, Darry shouts and the front door slams.

Grogginess overwhelms me as I try and push myself up from my stomach. I rise halfway and then decide it's easier to stay where I am. I rest my face on the tile, wondering when the last time Darry scrubbed. Soda's kneeling beside me, the only thing I can see his palms on the floor.

"You okay, Ponyboy?"

"Oh god," I mumble, remembering what happened. "I feel awful."

Soda presses a hand against my clammy face. "Yeah, you do."

My chest pounds against the floor, uneven, debating its next beat. "C'mon," Soda's says. "Let's get you up."

"Can I just rest here Sodapop?"

He hesitates but lets me. "Okay, kiddo. Okay."

*

Darry sits in his recliner, watching his youngest brother get examined by Chris Meigs. Chris takes the blood pressure cuff off Ponyboy, setting it aside. He's nearly finished, just readying his analysis.

"Do you remember what you were doing before you passed out, Ponyboy?" Chris asks.

Pony bites his lip. "I broke a jar of tomato sauce…I was on top of the cupboard getting some paper towels. I got dizzy and then…" He touches his chest. "This felt funny…it really hurt. It _still_ hurts," he amends.

Chris slips the stethoscope on, asking Pony to draw his shirt up. As he listens to the heartbeat, his lips draw together, forming a white line. "I don't like what I hear." He glances over at Darry. "I'm not seeing any progress even after cutting out the smokes and exhaustive exercise. And if he keeps fainting, one of these days it will be at the wrong place, at the wrong time."

Darry's face doesn't change, it's calm, stoic, but I hear his thoughts: _God please_. _Not this, not after what he's been through_.

"What does that mean?" Ponyboy asks, staring at his palms.

"It means we don't have too many options," Chris says, watching the boy. "I'm not going to win any fans here and I know you don't want to hear it. But with this condition you have to realize that it may be fatal."

Ponyboy tenses. "I knew it." _You're a liar, Everett, _he thinks_._ I shake my head, moving away from his fury, to go stand over Darry. Soda has his pack of smokes out and is moving it back and forth in his palms, staring at Ponyboy.

Darry, who's keeping it together like the Rock of Gibraltar says, "Just tell me what we can do. Tell me the option. Whatever it is. I'll do it."

Chris's face is serious, fatherly. "The best option—possibly the only— is heart surgery. They'd close the septal defect. He'd be good as new."

Pony's eyes are shut. _No way_, he's thinking. _No freaking way_.

Chris writes something in his notepad, ripping off the sheet of paper. He hands it to Darry. "The University of Tulsa has a medical university where they can do the surgery at a reduced cost. I know money's tight so that would help." Darry and Soda both nod. "And even though the surgery is in the experimental stages right now…" Darry frowns, Chris continues. "It would be performed by the best doctor's."

"What do you think Sodapop?" Darry asks, staring at the paper. Money's a problem but it's an obstacle he can work with. He'll get it paid. What Darry's thinking about is Ponyboy who may or may not be an easy fix.

"Let's do it." Soda's says, glancing over at his oldest brother. We meet eyes but he doesn't notice me. "We gotta, Dar."

Ponyboy's not so hot on the idea, something feels off. "Wait, wait, wait. They're gonna cut my chest _open_, guys." Ponyboy says, wincing at the mental image. "What happens if something goes wrong?"

Darry's eyes move from his brother to Chris. "Is that likely?"

"Not likely," Chris tells Darry. He reaches out, across the space between him and Ponyboy to hand the scared kid the stethoscope. "Do you want to hear your heart click?"

"I've heard it," Ponyboy says between grit teeth.

"It's not pretty is it?"

"No."

Chris shifts on the couch. "Listen, Pony, surgery's not a barrel of laughs, I know that. It's hard, it's scary. But let me tell you, this is serious. You need to either risk it to have a chance at life _or_ if you do nothing it's likely you'll die before you're 16."

Pony looks as if he's been sucker punched.

"I'm sorry," Chris says. "I know it's a big decision."

Darry answers for all of them: "He'll do it."

*

I go back to Fate and tell her the news, recounting the story in great detail. Her back is to me, black hair falling like a waterfall. "He can't do the surgery."

"Why not?"

Iris, beautiful Iris, spins around to face me. "The child was right. He will die."

"What?" I grab her shoulder. "Why are you just now telling me this? How did _he_ know?

She smiles. "He's just a scared kid; he doesn't know he's right. And as for me…I didn't know until today." Iris shuts her eyes. "The surgery's no good. Talk him out of it."

"What if he resists?"

"Bribe him. He can't save his brother if he dies," she replies coldly, her eyes snapping open.

I raise an eyebrow. Iris heard the conversation between Pony and myself; his request for barter.

She doesn't say whether she'll do it or not or if it even _can_ be done, but it's the first time Fate's thrown me a bone and I grab at it.

"I will."

*

Ponyboy's tugging at his hospital gown, trying to get it off and failing miserably. He's in the middle of his surgery review but already he's done with the nonsense. I'm hanging around to give him news of my own when the room clears.

The nurse has tried to take his blood three times, jabbing a vein and missing. "I'm done, Darry," Pony snaps, trying to disentangle the gown. "No," he pushes the nurse away. "Leave me alone."

Darry's watching the nurse with eagle-like sight, torn between admonishing his brother for his lack of manners or the nurse for her shoddy skills. He half-rises from his chair as Pony grips the crook of his arm in pain.

"Maybe you should—"

"One more time," the nurse smiles, sticking the needle. Ponyboy grits his teeth, keeping a howl in. The nurse draws the blood, getting what she needs for the lab tests. "Good boy," she says, exiting the room.

Ponyboy rests his head back against the hospital bed. "Is it over yet?"

"Soon," Darry says. "Just relax."

Worked up, Ponyboy pauses, one arm caught in the gown's armhole. "Let's just go. They don't need any tests—" He blanches when another nurse reenters the room. He keeps expecting to run into Alice Waters.

The nurse – a beehived redhead – checks out her chart. She gives Darry a quick once over. "You the guardian?" Darry nods and she launches into her discussion of the various risks associated with the surgery, benefits and the recuperation process. She gives Darry a stack of documents. "Read these over and sign them. If he's approved, we need consent before moving forward with surgery."

"We're still waiting on the results of his EKG and blood tests," she tells Darry. "Once they're approved by Dr. Meigs and the surgeon they'll be sent to the University of Tulsa Medical Center and he can be scheduled."

Darry rubs sweaty palms against his jeans. It's awkward for him, not know how to comfort, what to say to his brother.

"Are you planning to get tested?" The nurse asks.

Ponyboy snorts and Darry turns red. "What are you talking about?"

"To see if your blood type's a match." The nurse nods at Ponyboy. "In case he needs a transfusion during surgery."

"Oh, yeah, yeah, of course," Darry says, blinking. He looks at Pony. "Soda'll want to get tested too."

"Good, it's a family affair," the nurse states crisply, having no time for small talk. "Up and at 'em, roll up your sleeves. Let's go."

Darry gives Pony a small smile before leaving him alone in the room.

*

"I don't want to talk to you," Ponyboy snaps.

"Just give me a moment."

He wipes at his nosebleed. The blood sticks on his fingers. "You better send me back before Darry finds me. He's just going to think I'm getting worse when this is you." Pony sighs. "What do you want?"

"I afraid you're not going to like what I have to tell you." He says nothing so I continue. "If you do this surgery you'll die. There's no freebie card this time."

Pony blinks. "But if I don't get it…"

"Take your chances," I say. "I think Fate has another way of having this play out."

His eyes narrow. "Involving Sodapop."

"Possibly."

"I don't believe you. No, I'm gonna do it."

"Pony," I begin, feeling like a heel. "If it does kill you, who will look out for Soda? Save him, if you can." Lie or truth, whatever it is, sticks on my tongue like a bitter candy.

Pony's face crumples. "You're a bastard." He crosses the room, face flushed. "You show me my parents to hurt me, throw my brother in my face, give me a pain I can't take away…" He presses a hand against his heart.

"And for what?" He wipes at his eyes. "It was cool at first. Doing those…stunts; living when I shouldn't. But it's no fun anymore. I just want to stop. I don't want to know you. I _hate_ you Everett."

I stare at him, swallowing thickly. "I'm sorry."

*

I don't leave right away, wanting to make sure Pony doesn't do anything rash like run out of the hospital clothed only in a hospital gown. He sits in bed, arms crossed, stony-faced.

The kid's a writer; he sure knows the words to say that will rip a heart out – pun unintended.

Staring out the window, Pony keeps swiping at his wet eyes. He's frustrated and tired, unsure of his place. I already know by the time it's over he's going to want to break a few more times. "I'm sorry," I repeat to the air.

The door swings open and Darry shakes his head ruefully. A white bandage is wrapped around the crook of his elbow. "We don't match, kiddo. We'll get Sodapop back here; give him a chance to get poked."

"He'll love that," Pony tries to joke, but his voice breaks.

"Pony? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm just really tired." Pony twists around, gripping the hospital beds' rails. "Can we go Darry? Are we done?"

"We are," Darry answers. He grabs up the consent forms, tucking them under his bicep. "I'll sign these at home."

*

"_Ponyboy…What's inside and outside him will always be the same. He loves to learn…to __know__. I hope he never stops caring…" _

I can't get my mother's voice out of my head; her final words. I want to share them with Soda or Darry but they'd think I was nuts. I thought I could but I don't know how to deal with this.

"I hate him," I reassure my reflection in the bathroom mirror the next morning. "I really do." I hate that Everett showed me their memories. I hate that he tells me so much but so little and makes me guess while jumping through hoops. I almost don't want to trust him and go through with the surgery but I can't take the chance. He's been right before.

The front door slams and I jump a mile, spilling the bottle of aspirin in my hand. Little white pills tumble down the drain. There goes my headache.

"Where's Darry?"

"At work," Soda hisses, thinking I'm still in bed. "Steve, keep it down, Pony's asleep. He ain't feeling too hot." No one's told Steve or Two-Bit about my awaiting surgery. A lack of time and healthy amounts of denial are to blame.

"Soda man, we're in deep fucking shit."

Frowning, I move closer to the bathroom door, trying to hear.

"You're not gonna believe the _fuckin_ stunt Tim pulled." Steve's voice is angry.

"Tell me it doesn't involve Skelter."

"Sorry to burst your bubble, Soda….but it does involve the one and only." I crack the door to see Steve pacing the living room, his usually calm features twisted into anxiety. Soda leans against the back of Darry's recliner, rocking slowly.

Soda takes a breath. "It's bad?"

"Oh, it's bad. It's beyond bad. Tim rigged a race. A _fucking horse race_, Sodapop!" Steve smacks a fist against his palm. "I don't know how in the hell he did it but the rider threw the race and Skelter lost."

"How much?"

"Two grand."

There's a long silence and then explosion. "Shit! Shit!" Soda covers his eyes. "That stupid son of a bitch – he wasn't supposed to do a thing. I told Tim to cut all this shit out." I raise an eyebrow, impressed with my brother's cursing skills so openly used now that I'm supposedly asleep.

"You know he's gonna be gunning for us," Steve says. "More than ever."

Soda shakes his head. "Shit."

*

Soda's cooking dinner while Darry's pouring over the hospital forms. "I don't even understand half of this horseshit," he mutters. I pause, watching for a moment. He looks like my father used to when he would cuss out his crossword puzzles.

"You hungry?" Soda asks. His face is coated with flour.

"Depends." I glance at the mess on the counter. "What're you cooking?"

"Oh – ho," Soda laughs. "Getting choosy are we?"

"He's smart," Darry says, still reading the paperwork. He sniffs the air and turns around in his chair. "What _are_ you cooking? It smells like wet dog in here."

"Don't worry about it," Soda says, shooing Darry back to his papers. "It's a surprise." Then Soda dumps a whole container of cinnamon in the white sauce and says _oops_.

Darry groans and I sit down across from him. I don't think I can tell it to him standing, I'd run from the room. "Darry…" He grunts and I try again.

"Darry. Have you signed those forms yet?"

He looks up, baffled. "No, they're right here." He tugs out a small stack of papers from the large. I take them, folding them up.

"Well, don't bother. I ain't gonna do the surgery."

"Pony," Darry sighs. "I know you don't want—"

"No, Darry. I'm _not_ doing it."

Soda stops mid-stir. "What're you talking about?"

Darry pushes the papers away. They rustle lightly. "Kiddo, if this is about money, we have it covered. You don't need to worry about that."

"Yeah, let us do that." Soda grins.

"It's not that— I just don't want it. It ain't gonna help." I shrug; firmly planting my feet on the ground so I stay put and don't cave under Darry's looming yell.

"Ain't gonna help?" The spoon clatters on the counter as Sodapop shakes his head. "You're talking nuts, Pony. It's the only thing that'll help."

Darry tries again. "I know you're scared and we don't like it anymore than you but—"

"I'm still not doing it. No matter what you say." Soda winces as if I've just set off an atomic bomb. The sauce bubbles forgotten on the stovetop. Darry just gawks at me.

I tighten my grip on the papers, pulling them closer. "Don't sign them, Darry. Not yet."

"Then when? What time would work for you? Because from what Chris said you ain't getting better on your own." I blink at Darry's sarcasm; Two-Bit would be impressed.

"Darry, cut it out," Soda snaps. "Stop being an ass." He looks at me. "Kiddo, just listen to us."

"Give me the forms, Pony," Darry says, ignoring Soda.

"But Darry—"

"I'm not arguing about this with you!" Darry's fist pounds the counter causing me to lean back in the chair. Without another word, I hand them over. Darry's hand crunches the white paper. He takes a heavy breath.

Darry sets his jaw. "Ponyboy. I'm your guardian, I make the decisions—"

"I think I should—"

"No." He points at me. "No more. You don't have a goddamned choice."

*

Pardon any typos!


	17. Chapter 17

SE Hinton owns The Outsiders.

Cursing in this chapter.

Hope everyone had a happy and safe Halloween!!

I hope to update again very soon (maybe today?). Review, review, review!!!

*

XVII. The Beat

Two days after Pony's announcement, a cold spell settles in Tulsa. The sky stays a dusky blue during the days and at night clouds up into darkness. Ponyboy thinks it fits his circumstances.

The house is alive with keeping secrets.

Soda's dealing with Tim, trying to solve the Skelter issue on his own, not wanting to burden Darry. Tim thinks he's got the upper hand, something Sodapop and Steve doubt. They know it's going on too long and that's what worries the boys.

Needless to say, Ponyboy and Darry aren't talking. It's childish, I must admit. But I understand Darry's logic. Darry can't grasp his youngest brother's inane reasoning. And because of this he can't find the right words to get Pony to listen, to override his own logic, so he just doesn't talk. It's easier for him to push. He mails the consent forms.

Frustrated with Darry's lack of perceptive and Soda's distance, Pony's throwing it all out, giving it up. He feels he has nothing to lose so why not play fast and hard. I shake my head, wanting to remind the child not to be so downtrodden.

Fate will work him out. Despite all her shortcomings, I still have her in my faith.

After school Ponyboy runs the track, ignoring the dull pain brewing, relishing his freedom. The wind whips his face, his long arms and legs a blur. From the stands I watch him, murmuring encouragement and warnings.

Perhaps the worst, he sneaks a smoke here and there. He's tense and even though he _can_ help it, he won't anymore. I can't blame him; I don't think anyone could.

He does what he can to survive.

*

"What's with you?" I ask Two-Bit. "You're unnaturally quiet today." I've been waiting around at the bar keeping him company while he wraps up his shift.

Two-Bit finishes wiping down the bar. "Just thinking..."

I smirk. "Yeah, that _is_ pretty unnatural for you."

"I do what I gotta do." Two-Bit meets my grin. He tries to toss the dishrag in the sink but it slips off, falling to the floor. He turns back to me. "Soda tells me you're being a pain in the ass about the surgery."

I kick my legs off the bar stool, spinning around. "Well…that's debatable."

Two-Bit rubs a thumb down his bristly sideburn. "Not according to your brothers. I've never seen Darry this mad."

I put my hands on the now-clean bar top and rest my head in them. "Yeah. He still ain't talking to me. He just grunts."

"Hey." Two-Bit touches my arm, getting my attention. "We all ain't as smart as Ponyboy Curtis. So enlighten me, will ya? Why are you fighting this? Go with the flow I always say."

"I just have this feeling. You know…" I struggle for explanation, for a lie. "Like before the rumble…I knew something bad was gonna happen."

Two-Bit just stares at me like I'm off my rocker. "You ain't a fortuneteller kid."

_Yeah, but I know somebody who is._

The phone rings and after a beat Two-Bit answers. "Y'ello? Oh hey—" Two-Bit glances my way. "Yeah, he's here…drunk as a skunk…of course I'm kidding..." Two-Bit rolls his eyes. "Sure, sure, I can do that. But it'll cost ya…Ok, ok, you're not in the mood right now, I get it." He lowers his voice to a husky whisper. "Maybe later tonight we—Hello?"

Two-Bit laughs and hangs up the phone. "Superman sure is grumpy today. Guess overtime calls."

I hop off my barstool. "We gotta go pick up Sodapop?"

"We gotta."

*

Two-Bit drives us to the hospital. I shift nervously in the hard waiting room chair, watching Two-Bit flirt with the on-call nurse. The blonde giggles and shows him something on her clipboard.

"What was that?" I ask when he sits down next to me.

"A picture of her cat," Two-Bit sighs. "I don't think she works here."

Then Two-Bit begins talking about stealing a wheelchair. He's bored and so am I but at least he has the energy to be entertaining. I want to get the hell out of the hospital.

"See this is the beauty of it. If we got two pieces of plywood and hooked them to the wheels…you'd fly like…like Batman."

I hold up a finger. "Technically, he doesn't really fly and no, I'm pretty sure you'd crash."

"What're you talkin about?" Appalled, Two-Bit flings his arms out. "Pony, clearly you have no sense of mechanics. The utility belt's all an act." We both look up as Soda waits before us.

"Hey buddy," Two-Bit says. "Feeling the pain?"

"What're you?" I ask. I'm O negative, meaning easy to give, not easy to receive since only other O negatives can donate. Leave it to me to be difficult.

Soda looks puzzled. His dark eyes waver, finally settling on me. "B positive. We ain't a match." He seems disturbed by this, shaking his head as if it's not true. "I would've thought for sure…"

"It's okay, Soda." I stand up, ready to go. "Darry wasn't either."

"Yeah but—" Soda stops abruptly, his unfinished words lingering in the air: I_ should be_. He rubs his arm.

"You can't do everything, my man," Two-Bit says cheerfully, clapping Soda on the back. He turns to me. "Now, let's go steal that wheelchair."

*

Soda's about to tell Darry about Skelter; how he has no idea what he's doing or what Tim's doing, when all of a sudden Ponyboy walks out of the bedroom, catching him off guard. Soda freezes, the admission sticking in his mouth. Darry unaware of what Soda was about to tell him, just wants to get back to his book, needing a moment to himself.

A deep crease crosses Pony's brow. He knows something's up but doesn't say anything. He just fixes Soda with those green eyes. "Can I go out?"

"Ask Darry," Soda says, ever the peacemaker.

Pony sighs, turning to Darry with a scowl. "Darry. Can I go out."

Pony's wearing a grey t-shirt that hangs off of him, blue jeans and messy hair. He has sneakers on, his intention the track despite the fact that it's three o'clock on a Saturday afternoon. I frown. He should be seeing a movie or hanging out with friends, not running laps.

"Be home by curfew," Darry grunts. "Stay in our neighborhood." He goes back to his paper.

"Right," Pony says, resigned to Darry's silence. He slams the screen door shut.

*

I know Darry mailed those consent forms. I searched the house high and low for them this afternoon with no luck. And I have no idea how I'm getting out of this. I try not to wish for advice from Everett but it's mighty hard.

It's also hard having Darry give me the silent treatment. I can't help but feel guilty; he's doing his best and I'm just throwing a wrench in his methodical plans. Darry likes common sense and planning; he hates the unknown.

I slow as I approach the track. Out of the corner of my eye, a guy's huddled near his car, fiddling with a jack. If there's one thing I know how to do car-wise it's change a tire. Surprisingly, Steve showed me the way a few years ago.

"Hey," I call out. "Do you need some help?"

The guy stands up. When I see his dirty hair I know I should've kept my trap shut. A sick grin spreads across his face.

"Aw, shit." I back up, cursing my good-Samaritan status.

"I lost big."

"So I heard."

There's a long beat and then Skelter rushes me. I turn to run, fumble, and then Skelter grabs me around the waist. He covers my mouth before I can scream and dumps me in his trunk.

*

The lid pops.

"Get out."

Distrustfully, I place two shaky hands against the trunk and climb out. My knees buckle and I crash into the dirt, sweating. Glancing up, I see we're in a field, trees lining the edge. The afternoon light is turning rosy.

"You scared kid?"

I rest my palms in the dust. "Yeah. I am." I hang my head as my heart gives an insecure thump.

"That's real good. Because you're in deep shit."

"Why can't you just leave Sodapop alone? It's not his fault." The uneven beat reaches my ears, my hands, my toes. I grimace, taking a deep breath.

"Oh but it is." Skelter kneels, grabbing my chin to make me face him. I eye the switchblade in his back pocket with wariness. "You see, him and Tim fucked me over bad. And I already got those other two brats. I can't leave you out." I stay silent, hoping the pain will subside so I can get the hell out of here.

Arguing with a crazy wasn't high on my list of priorities for the day.

Skelter leans closer. "I ain't gonna hurt you too much. Just break some bones, cut you up. The usual."

Like Darry, I clench my jaw. "Go to hell, asshole."

He laughs once, a short biting laugh and then rams his meaty fist against my chest. The action slams me backwards as I hit the ground with an _oomph_. I wriggle, trying to buck him off me, when another sharp punch to the side doubles me over. I cough, sputtering, as he continues punching me in the chest, over and over.

It hurts. It's painful. And when he's done, I wince, uncurling from my fetal position. Skelter leans down low, wiping his sweaty hair away from his face. "How do you like tha—"

I head butt him, our skulls cracking together with vicious force. Skelter hollers, spitting curses. Clutching at my head, I scramble up, ignoring the stars in my vision. I sway a moment and then I pull myself together long enough to ram an elbow as hard as I can into his fat ugly mouth.

The sickening crack of teeth greets both our ears. "Fuck!" Skelter doubles over, blood pouring from his face.

I grin at the damage; barely hearing his scream. Without a second glance, flight kicks in, and I run. My breath comes in short raspy bubbles but I don't even notice the pain.

What I do notice is that I can run, probably better than I ever have before.

*

When Ponyboy reaches the woods, he stops, crouching down. Through the trees he can see the road ahead. The country highway's silent as Ponyboy glances behind him for an unseen Skelter. His face sheet white, Skelter's punches catching up with him. He lets out a long sigh, rubbing his eyes.

I wish I had Fate's power to inflict death, pain and whatnot on this Skelter. I'm proud of Pony—he fought back, he fought hard. Darry and Soda have taught their youngest brother well.

Ponyboy touches his heart. "Noooo," he moans, leaning forward, brow touching the earth. "C'mon," he whispers. "Not now."

Yes now.

Light as breeze, he topples over.

*

I go to him. "Wake up."

He glares at me, dark circles shading his green eyes. "I thought you left."

"Get up."

"I can't."

"You can. Go home to your brothers. You'll freeze out here."

He thinks for a moment and then grins. It lights up his face. "Did you see me run? I can still do it."

"You always could."

Ponyboy blinks once and then wakes up.

*

I know it's not as late as it feels. The moon's barely rising. I stumble out from my hiding place in the grove of trees, approaching the edge of the highway. The cement glitters in the dark. I look to my left, nothing, my right, nothing; not a car in sight.

Shivering, I cross my arms, hugging my chest, which hurts something awful.

I walk about a mile when blinking headlights are suddenly staring me down. Waving my arms, I step into the light. "Hey!"

The blue truck pounds its breaks, swerving into the ditch to avoid pummeling me. I jump back, squinting in disbelief at the familiar vehicle.

"Jesus Christ!" A loud voice shouts. "What the fuck is your—Ponyboy?"

I'm so relieved I begin laughing, falling to my knees and covering my eyes. I can't believe the coincidence.

"Ponyboy? Jesus Christ, we've been looking all over the godforsaken earth for you." Steve says, stumbling out of the cab. He trips over his own feet, darting over.

"How'd you know I was out here?"

"One of your track buddies called Darry and told him he saw some shady guy toss you into a trunk. It didn't take long for us to put it together. We each took a direction; I went south."

"Lucky you." I touch the tender knot on my head from head butting Skelter.

Steve places a hand on my back. "Are you okay?" His voice is oddly gentle.

"Yeah, real dandy," I snap, trying to stand and finding I can't, my legs jelly. "Skelter beat the hell out of me." My voice breaks. "I just want to go home."

"I can do that." Steve grips my elbow, helping me up. Every bone in my body aches as Steve wraps his right arm around my waist, getting me into the truck in one swift movement.

I rub my chest; the punch from Skelter seeming to slow things down in there.

Steve puts the truck in gear, flipping on his headlights and peeling out. He does a U-turn in the middle of the highway. Steve shrugs his jacket off, swerving slightly. "Put this on, it'll keep you warm." I take the heavy leather jacket, thickly scented with gasoline and Steve's musky aftershave. I drape it across my chest, too sore to actually put it on.

I wince, my fingers curling up into a fist. Steve eyes me warily. "Ponyboy tell me now: is there anything wrong that I need to take you to the hospital for? Because if I get home and you keel over…Darry'll pitch a fuckin fit."

I shake my head. "No…my heart just hurts. Ain't nothing new." I inhale another sharp breath, squeezing my eyes shut.

"Don't you dare spontaneously combust in my truck, Ponyboy," Steve warns, reaching over to shake my knee.

"Why not? It'll give your truck character."

"Character the truck's got. Remember last Christmas? Two-Bit and the twelve-pack he sucked down?"

"I think everybody remembers that," I murmur, smiling. "He got you pretty good."

"Yeah, ha-ha. Merry-fucking-Christmas-to-me. I spent two days hosing my truck off." As if to comfort it, Steve pats the steering wheel.

We drive in silence for about ten minutes. Steve keeps glancing at me from the corner of his eye when he finally asks, "How'd you get away?"

"I kicked his teeth in." I rest my head against the window, watching the _Now Entering Tulsa City Limits_ sign pass us by in a blur. "I hope I broke his goddamn jaw."

*

No one's home when Steve and Ponyboy arrive. Soda's across town, Darry at the police station and Two-Bit down by the railroad tracks.

Steve checks Ponyboy over; the boy has bruising down the entire front of his chest and a few boot kicks to the side. Steve gets him into some clean clothes, making him lay down on the couch.

Pony keeps complaining about his aching chest and ribs so Steve gives the kid some painkillers he finds in the medicine cabinet. They're expired but he figures they'll do the job.

They make Pony loopy. And talkative. Ponyboy keeps blabbing about nothing in particular. Steve sits on the floor, watching the TV between the rambling conversation with Ponyboy. He wishes one of his brothers would get back because Steve feels helpless. He doesn't know what to do to comfort the kid.

So he just listens.

"And then the walls get all black and time stops. Because it's really a matter of time. When the water leaks it keeps pouring."

I raise an eyebrow at this as does Steve. "Kid…" Steve says, torn between laughter and concern, "you don't do so well with drugs."

Ponyboy tugs at the blanket, suddenly serious. "Steve, don't try anything else with Skelter. Just tell Soda to let it go."

Steve stares at him. "Let it go? You think he tossed you in that truck to make friends? Chat about the fuckin weather? Pony, you're goddamn lucky you ain't dead right now."

Ponyboy's green eyes dull. "Lucky or not we're all gonna die, Steve." He glances around the room, looking for me. "Ain't we?"

*

Steve greets Darry outside on the porch. "Tell me you found him." Darry asks, hands in his pockets. Darry's shaken, the last five hours he's been consumed with how he treated Ponyboy, silent treatment and all. It's the little things that haunt Darry; at the moment he looks a lot closer to 30 than his actual age.

"I did." Steve's eyes are even darker in the moonlight, like pools of tar. "Skelter beat the shit out of him, but he's okay. He's a tough kid, Dar." Steve puts a hand on Darry's shoulder.

Darry gives Steve a thankful glance and then pushes through the screen door.

"Ponyboy," Darry says. Pony sits up. Darry has no more words. He just hugs his brother, engulfing him between his arms, taking in the feel of him. The life. The beat.

*

Pardon typos.

A few more chapters to come…


	18. Chapter 18

Fasty fast update. Enjoy!!

Be forewarned – large cliffy this way comes. And no whining. Fate will not have it.

SE Hinton owns the Outsiders.

Please review. I'll owe you. And I love them.

*

XVIII. All Wrong

Ponyboy wakes in the middle of the night. Sodapop sits beside Ponyboy, stroking his tangled reddish-brown hair. Darry and Soda halt their conversation as Ponyboy stirs.

Sodapop looks at Ponyboy. "How're you feeling?"

Pony yawns. "Sleepy."

"You should be," Darry says. "Steve gave you enough painkillers to put down a grizzly."

Pony grins loopily, the drugs still having an effect. "Did you find Skelter?"

Soda keeps stroking Pony's hair. "No. No, I didn't. I wasn't looking for him anyways." Soda's a far cry from the mess he was earlier when Pat called the house.

"Are you _going_ to find him?" Pony sits up, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. I touch the end table lamp and it flickers, casting Darry's face in a warm yellow glow. Pony leans back into the couch, frowning. _Go away_, _Everett_, he thinks.

"Pony," Darry says. "You let us worry about that." Soda tries to draw Ponyboy closer.

Pony pulls away, shaking his head. "No, this is wrong. All wrong. Something bad is—"

"Steve said you were talking about dying," Darry's voice is strained. "I want you to cut it out. You're going to be just fine."

"You can't always take care of me, Darry. No matter what mom said." I wince at Pony's unplanned revelation. The boy's eyes widen, green and glassy in the dark, surprised at his own admission.

Darry tenses in his chair. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Pony's tired so he decides not to fight. "I know, Darry."

"Know what?"

Pony his forehead, a gesture he's unconsciously picking up from his oldest brother. "I met Alice Waters at the hospital." This time it's Darry's eyes that widen. Only they're not icy, they're afraid.

"She told me what happened with mom when I was born," Pony finishes.

"Why in the hell would she—"

Soda interrupts, "What're you two talking about?"

Darry glances at Soda, almost as if he's forgotten about him. He clears his throat. "You don't know this…because you weren't there but the night mom had Ponyboy…she lost him."

Darry gets his grips from his faltering explanation. "Mom told me the cord cut off his air for too long." "Alice sent a card every Christmas," Darry says, watching Ponyboy as he nods. "Mom never wrote back. She was too afraid. She didn't want to remember."

Soda, left out of the loop, stares at the flickering light. "Dad tell you that?"

"Yeah," Darry says softly.

It's an awkward moment, each of them pulled into their own memories. Finally, Ponyboy whispers, "You can't worry about me all the time, Dar." He sounds sad.

"Ponyboy," Darry tells him with fervor, making sure his brother understands. "I will always worry about you." He looks at Soda. "Both of you."

*

"They scheduled his surgery," I say. "One week from today."

Fate twists her slim hips on the chaise lounge. She brushes dark hair behind her shoulder. "I'll get him out of it." She says this as if she's just made up her mind. "He won't have to worry about that."

"Then what will he have to worry about?" I ask, warily. Iris just smiles.

I check my watch; I'm needed overseas. "I have to go," I say, making a move to leave her bedroom.

Iris arches her back. "And Everett," she says, stopping me with her indulgent tone. "If he asks you to make a choice, I give you permission." She grins again, baring her fangs.

"For what?"

"To choose. Give him what he wants." When she says this I know it's happening very soon. The memo will be rolled into action.

I wave at her tiredly. "We'll see, Iris."

"We shall."

*

Chris wraps the stethoscope around his hand. "So are you ready for next week, kiddo?"

"Not really," I mutter.

Two-Bit walks out of our kitchen, cracking a beer. He holds it out to Chris. "In-home visits have benefits, doc."

Darry glares at Two-Bit while Chris chuckles, shaking his head. "Maybe some other time. Now remember," Chris turns back to me. "Nothing to eat after midnight the day of the surgery, no aspirin…get a good night's sleep."

Chris reviews my tests, flipping through the pages. "Your tests all look good and the doctor's are ready for you."

I swallow. "Are you going to be there?"

"Of course. I'm unable to do the surgery, but I'll be there to follow-up." He pats my hand. "All the way, Ponyboy," Chris says so earnestly I wonder why he doesn't have children. He'd make a great dad.

Darry looks so relieved it's scary. "We really appreciate you doing this."

I watch them shake hands and a chill runs up my spine; an icy finger making its mark.

*

He feels it coming and races to the bathroom. Ponyboy shuts his eyes and waits for me. I'm there when they re-open.

He holds his chest. "The surgery?"

"Don't worry. You won't be doing it."

"Soda—is he—"

"Just listen to me and focus." I pause, Fate's words in my mind. "Did you mean what you said? About you and Soda? Are you sure? It will be very hard."

"Yes. Promise me, Everett."

"Fine. But when it happens you have to ask. I won't do it unless you say it."

Pony nods, almost eagerly. "I can handle it. Give it to me."

*

Unknown to Ponyboy, Sodapop and Tim plan a rumble. Skelter and Tim agree this will end it; no weapons, just fists but I have my doubts.

Soda tells Darry and Darry, torn between being the responsible party and getting payback at Skelter, agrees. With or without his help, Soda'd fight anyway. So Darry will be there.

"Not a word to Ponyboy," Darry warns the gang.

They all nod their agreement.

*

There's the cough.

Pony begins breathing hard, his breath coming in thin crackles as he inhales deep. He goes to school, does his homework, trying to take soft breaths around his brothers, not wanting to worry them.

Pony's relaxed about the surgery, trusting me on that, but he's still thinking about Sodapop, unaware of the upcoming fight.

Then, the night before the rumble, there's warmth.

At first it's nothing. Darry, chugging a glass of water, sees Pony from the corner of his eye, hunched over his homework at the kitchen table. Darry, noticing his brother looks awfully gaunt, frowns. Pony's skin is eggshell white with just two spots of flushed red on his cheeks. Darry walks over, touching Ponyboy's neck.

Pony jumps, dropping his pencil. "Glory! What Dar?"

Darry curses inwardly. His brother's warm. "You stay home tonight, Ponyboy."

Ponyboy smiles crookedly. "Where else would I go?"

The next morning, there's the burning.

Soda pops his head into Darry's bedroom. "Pony needs to stay home from school."

Darry tosses a t-shirt on. "What's wrong with him?"

"He's got a temperature. It's not too bad but he should rest."

Darry nods, thinking about the surgery and how if Pony gets sick they'll have to reschedule. I know Fate's working her twisted magic right now.

But I'm not sure for whose benefit.

*

Darry and Soda both go to work, calling during the day to check on their brother. Ponyboy sleeps off and on, waking to read and watch a few of his favorite TV shows. He keeps coughing and when he spits into the sink, it's frothy red.

He rubs his chest, wondering if he can chance the surgery. Finally, he slips into a deep sleep on his and Sodapop's bed.

Darry finds him like that. Darry sits on the bed, rubbing his brother's bony back. Pony's still quite warm. Darry sits like that for a while until Soda gets home. Steve's with him, picking at his nails with a knife while he waits for the Darry and Soda to sort things out.

"Soda," Darry says, leaning against the doorframe. "I can't leave Pony alone tonight."

Darry was planning to leave Ponyboy at home with strict instructions to finish all his homework before the surgery. They'd go fight while Pony toiled over math and English and be home before he went to sleep. By then he'd be wise but unable to do anything about it.

Unfortunately, plans don't always come through.

Soda swallows, looking back at Steve, who's ready to go. "Can you call Chris?"

"I tried. He's not back from work for another twenty minutes." Darry runs a hand through his hair, not liking what he's about to say. But he has no choice; they all can't bail tonight.

"You go. I'll get Chris to stay with him and meet you there."

*

I have this weird dream. Everett finds me. He's with a woman. She has long dark hair and a pale smile. She blows me a kiss and I shiver. The woman snakes her long fingers down my spine. Her nails sharp as knitting needles.

Everett stands to the side, mute. She hands me a violet flower.

Then, it's day and it's night; I'm hot and cold.

I'm here and Soda's gone.

*

I wake, sweating bullets. My stomach's twisted into coils. "Darry!" I holler, running into the kitchen. He's hanging out by the telephone, waiting for a call.

"Where's Sodapop?" Darry gapes at me. "Where is he?"

"Pony—"

"He went to fight, didn't he?" My breath comes in short, hot spurts. Without waiting for an answer I turn and run outside, jumping in Darry's truck. He's close behind, whipping his driver's door open. Darry reaches across to grab my wrist, nearly jerking me out his end of the truck. I grab the seat, holding tight.

"Ponyboy, get back inside!"

"No. We gotta go get him, Darry. You can't let him fight alone. _Please_."

"Goddamn—" Darry grits his jaw and climbs in. He starts the engine and backs down the driveway.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me."

"I didn't tell you," Darry snaps, "because I knew _this_ would happen." He turns on Clinton Street, pushing the truck faster and I know I've made him worried. "How'd you know anyways?"

"I just did."

"That's not answering my question, Pony," Darry yells, irate. And I know he's thinking Two-Bit spilled the beans.

"I dreamt it!" I yell back. "I just…I just had a nightmare." Darry gives me an odd look but says nothing

We reach the old farm in ten minutes. Darry puts the truck in park. "I'm going to go fight. You stay here." He slams the door shut so hard the truck shakes. I watch Darry's broad figure disappear into the night and then I leave the truck.

*

Iris stares down at the ongoing fight. "I'm so very excited," she exclaims. The rumble's just begun. Soda lets Tim have the first punch at Skelter. Skelter, his face already black and blue courtesy of Ponyboy, comes back up swinging. Curly shrieks like a banshee.

Darry jogs into the mix, deftly knocking one of Skelter's crew over, before helping out Sodapop. "What're you doing?" Soda hollers admits the din.

"Giving you a hand," Darry yells back. Soda just grins like a fool.

Iris's eyes glow as they move to Ponyboy, who's watching the scene like we are. "He's so sneaky," Iris says as Ponyboy finds his brothers in the wave of fighters.

"He has to be." I wince as Two-Bit takes punch to the eye socket.

Steve, unaware that Darry has arrived, jumps on his back, landing a punch before Darry tosses him off. "You idiot," Darry says with a laugh, helping him up with one hand and clothes lining some guy with the other.

The fight's dwindled to a few but it's gotten spread out. Soda slams a bald guy in the face, beginning to make his way back to the center of the farm when Skelter springs up like a scarecrow.

"Oh no," I whisper. Iris gives me a little shove down into the farm.

*

The barn's blocking my view. I walk steadily, on the outskirts of the fight, searching for Sodapop. Rubbing my chest, I find him. He's making his way back to our guys, strolling along in a way only Soda can pull off. That's when I see Skelter. The glint of the knife is clear; Skelter jabs it into Soda's belly like it's a thumbtack.

My entire body goes numb. It's shock for a moment and then I'm running. I dodge Tim and Curly, running in between Two-Bit and some random guy. I brush Darry's arm.

"Ponyboy!" Darry yells. He tries to grab me but misses and has to turn back to one of Skelter's crew.

The heart inside me screams but I tell it to shut up. I can't be too late. I just can't.

Soda's lying on his back in the field, the knife stuck low. "No, no, no," I howl, falling to my knees. "Soda." I touch the handle of the blade but leave it in. Pulling it out seems worse. The blood's pooling around the blade, red rivulets running down his side.

I touch his neck, feeling the weak beat. "Don't die," I whisper, breathing hard. "Please don't die."

The fight's tapering off. I twist around and scream: "Darry! Steve!" I turn back to Sodapop, knowing they'll hear me and come.

He's pale, breathing slowing. I begin to cry, my heart galloping in an awkward rhythm I haven't felt before. "Not Soda. _Please. Please. Please_." I shake him. Soda's breath halts. I cover my eyes, leaning across my brother to hold him. "_Everett, you promised_. Please. It's me. Do it."

I wait a fraction of a moment and then inside of me, something breaks. It's so painful, I shriek. It's as if I'm being drained of everything.

Blood shuts down, beat goes off.

*

Soda's fading, Ponyboy leaning across him, sobbing. "_Everett, you promised_."

My hand darts out, unsure which one to take. I've come to like Ponyboy, care even, and to touch him with the intention of sending him someplace dark and alone makes me hesitate.

"Please," Pony begs. "It's me. Do it."

And so, I do. Ask and he shall receive. I give Ponyboy the taste of death, taking what should be Soda's.

Soda's thin heartbeat resumes while I snap Ponyboy's. His shriek fills the air and he pitches forward, over Soda's legs to lay crumpled on the grass. His body twists awkwardly, jutting hipbones one way, torso the other.

"I'm sorry," I say, watching the two still bodies. I sit on the grass.

There are shouts behind me. Darry and Steve come flying across the field. "Where are they?" Darry yells at Steve.

Steve scours the field and then points, finding them 20 yards away. "There." Two-Bit, coming the opposite direction, heads toward the two boys.

Steve has to hold Darry up when they reach his brothers. "Fucking Skelter," Steve swears.

Darry rushes to Soda, Steve and Two-Bit to the kid. Darry eyes the knife. "Sodapop? Can you hear me?" He pats his brother's face with a shaking hand. Soda groans but says nothing more. Darry takes a breath; a groan is good, he tells himself.

"That's it buddy, just hold on…" Darry says, trying not to look at the knife anymore that he is able.

The other two gently roll the kid over onto his back. He flops like a ragdoll. "Pony?" Two-Bit brushes Pony's hair out of his clammy face. "C'mon kid…wakey wakey…"

Darry glancing over at Ponyboy suddenly gets something, realizing the possible reason his brother may be unconscious. Darry's face drains. "Check his heart. Check it!"

I shake my head, they won't find anything. I did my part; they just have to do theirs.

Two-Bit checks. "Oh fuck me," he whispers, paling.

It's Steve who does the CPR.

And when the ambulance comes to take the two of them, amid a flurry of panic and commotion, it's Darry who finally, once and for all, breaks.

*

Pardon typos.


	19. Chapter 19

SE Hinton owns The Outsiders.

Please review. Fate most graciously thanks you (and says hello).

*

XIX. The Man

To those passing him by, the man's an imposing figure. Stiff shoulders, rigid posture, he sits, waiting. To them, doctors, nurses, he's one in a million. Just another person in a white room with hard chairs; the pay phone propped too close, the magazines too old, the wait too long.

He's just another waiting to hear the possible. Waiting to hear the good news that their loved one is a-okay. Safe and sound.

Only for Darry Curtis, he's waiting to hear how his _life_ is. The remnants of his family—his two brothers—aren't faring so well.

Neither is Darry.

He rubs a hand down his sandpapery chin, tough bristles grazing his fingertips. Darry sighs, placing the ends of his palms against his forehead. His right hand is bandaged in thick white gauze. In between the paramedics scrambling to pump life into his youngest brother and Darry's current seat in the hospital waiting room, Darry put his fist through the window of Steve's truck.

It doesn't feel good now but it felt so good then.

Losing them both would kill him; seeing the two of them, lying there, still, unmoving, very nearly did.

A low voice speaks up. "Darrel?"

Darry glances up from his hands, expecting Two-Bit or Steve. It's Chris Meigs. Darry says nothing as Chris sits beside him.

Chris eyes the other two boys hovering down the hall near the vending machine. "Do you want to go into my office?"

"Do we need to?" Darry asks.

Chris begins with the easiest, speaking calmly. "Soda lost a lot of blood but he'll be fine. He's in recovery right now. We had to give him a transfusion." Chris lowers his voice. "The knife, fortunately, missed the internal organs. We sewed him up good and tight. He'll have a nasty scar and be sore for a while but it's nothing time can't fix." Chris touches Darry's arm. "When he wakes up you can see him."

Darry shuts his eyes in silent relief, savoring this moment, not quite ready for the next.

"And Ponyboy?"

"Darry." Chris's tone is flat. Darry opens his eyes.

"His heart shut down. The paramedics did get it back, but it took a long time. Longer than it should." Chris leans forward. "Darry, I'm so sorry…"

Darry's shaking his head, features screwed up tight. "No. No. Don't tell me—"

"Pony's going into heart failure. I—I don't think I need to tell you his surgery is off the table. The damage was just too much. Right now he's in the ER on a ventilator. It's breathing for him. I'm hoping…" Chris takes a heavy breath, feeling the weight of the conversation, "…that he'll wake up his own. But if he doesn't—"

"Wait," Darry says very quietly. "I can't think about that now."

"We'll give it time, Darrel. I wanted you to know how it really is….just in case." Chris says, standing up. He grips Darry's shoulder. "I'm here if you need anything."

Darry just stares at the floor.

*

I go visit Steve and Keith, who along with Darry, have been at the hospital for three hours, waiting. In that three hour time span, Steve and Darry entered a shouting match, Two-Bit nearly got banned from the elevators and Steve's seriously contemplating killing Holt Skelter.

"It's bad," Two-Bit says, watching Chris Meigs leave Darry sitting in the chair. "I know it." Two-Bit grips the package of Twinkies in his hands. He and Steve are on the opposite end of the hall from Darry, hovering around the vending machine. Steve's chewing on JuJu Bees and smoking.

Steve's quiet, his mind on his best friend. Mind on everyone in fact.

Seeing Darry blow a gasket back at the farm rattled Steve. Rattled him badly enough that as soon as they got to the hospital, Steve blew up, blaming Darry for his truck's broken window and calling Darry crazy for bringing the kid along to the fight when they all knew Ponyboy Curtis wouldn't listen to anyone as long as he was within a ten-mile range of danger.

Hence the shouting match.

Darry yelled right back, accusing Steve of letting the fight with Skelter get out of hand. Finally when they were finished, Darry stalked off, angry and shaking.

But Two-Bit's right; things are bad. So bad. And Steve doesn't want to worry. It's not his job. Steve sees Darry cover his eyes and Steve thinks: _Not Soda, please not Soda_. But he's also thinking about the kid. Because without him there is no Soda either.

"The kid knew, Stevie," Two-Bit moans, grabbing Steve's attention. "He knew something was gonna happen and I didn't listen. Again." Two-Bit runs both hands through his disheveled hair, wanting a beer, wanting to cope somehow.

"He didn't know jack shit," Steve snaps. He takes a drag on his smoke. "He's gonna be fine. They both will."

Darry stands, shoving his hands in his pockets. Two-Bit takes step, looking at Steve. "Should we—"

"Let him cool off. It's a lot to take for any guy."

Two-Bit laughs, a bit unsteadily. "No way in hell I could do it."

"Darry's a better man than you, Two-Bit. Shit, he's better than me."

*

I move on to inspect the hospital as Darry approaches Steve and Two-Bit. I am in no mood for a rehash of the details. Seeing and feeling Darry take the news was not easy. I blame Ponyboy. Before him, I could brush off loss and pain easily, affected only by the most extreme cases. Now however, empathy abounds.

Chris Meigs tells the on-call nurse to let him know if anything—_anything_—happens to Soda or Ponyboy Curtis. He's a good man.

I go up to the third floor—Soda's floor. I find his door, 302, and breeze through.

Soda's still asleep, gradually moving away from the medicine the doctor's have given him towards consciousness.

*

The nurse shows Darry to Soda's room. "You can go in now," she prods, not understanding Darry's hesitance. "He's awake. He's fine."

I hover near the radiator, every now and then glimpsing the traffic below from the outside window. The clock on the wall reads 9pm.

"Heeeey, Darry," Soda drawls as his brother enters. Aside from the stab wound, Soda's fared worse in a rumble; one eye a light purple, a faint bruise on one of his cheeks. Soda tries to stretch an arm out but the effort costs him. He grimaces and then laughs. "Lord, I hurt something awful. These painkillers ain't too bad though. Although they could be a little less stingy and up the dose."

Darry smiles, thankful Soda still has a happy face. He goes to his brother. "Glad to hear you're having fun." He wraps his good hand around Soda's, exhaling, leaning down to hug him. "You scared me, Sodapop. God, you scared me so bad."

"Glory, Dar. A little stab wound can't stop me." Soda scoffs. He sees how pale his brother is, trying to play off his own fear and lessen Darry's worry.

"Sodapop, the next time you call a stab wound "little" I'm going to brain you."

"What happened to your hand?"

"The fight. That's all, Sodapop."

Soda smiles, antsy, already wanting to see Steve and rehash the fight. I raise an eyebrow, impressed with his quick rebound.

"So did we win? Kick the shit out of Skelter?" Soda doesn't wait for an answer, continuing to blather. "Where's Ponyboy? Did you bring him? Don't tell me him and Two-Bit are robbing the gift shop."

Darry only pauses a moment but Soda catches on. Soda's hand slips from his brother's.

"Did something happen? Darry?"

"Soda…Ponyboy's real sick. He-He went into heart failure…" Darry's voice catches; nowhere near the steady, calm man he was a day ago. Even then he had the surgery as a solution, an answer. "He was the one who found you on the farm…do you remember?"

"No," Soda whispers. "Is he going to be okay?"

"Chris doesn't know. Pony's out of it. He needs to wake up for us to know anything."

"Have you seen him?"

"Not yet, he was my next stop after you." Darry tries to smile, unable to deal with the two of them at the same time. He can't handle it.

"I wanna go with you." Soda's already tugging at his sheets.

Darry puts a firm hand on Soda's chest, pressing him back. "No, Soda. You need to stay here. Rest."

"But, Darry—"

"I know you, buddy. You're going to see him, get worked up and rip your stitches out. It happened in eighth grade with you and Steve; it'll happen again."

Soda closes his dark eyes. "I _need_ to see him. I'll stay calm. I promise."

"Not now. Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's a long time, Dar."

"Just sleep, Soda. Tomorrow."

*

I stand outside Ponyboy's hospital room in the murky blackness. Fate's with me. "I want to visit him," she whispers.

"You can't."

"Why not?"

"Because he's m—" I stop myself there as Iris beams.

"You are endearing, Everett," she says. She bats her lashes. "I promise I won't take him from you."

*

"Ponyboy, you are perhaps one of the most perceptive creatures I've ever met," the woman says. "Enthralling, really. Selfless."

I blink, groggy from my nap. The foreign bed holds me tight. "Who're you?" The woman seems vaguely familiar. "Are you with the state?"

She laughs, her voice like glass; delicate yet sharp. "I am."

I struggle to sit up. "You can't take me away." I pause, rubbing my head. "I don't even know where I am."

Another laugh. "I'll give you some time to figure that out." I yawn and she stands. "You're tired. I'll let you rest." She looks at the door. "Plus, you have a visitor approaching."

Before I can ask her name she's gone and it goes black.

*

I curse Iris and her outgoing nature. To be honest, I am a bit jealous that Ponyboy will get to know her as well. I suppose I want to be seen as the ultimate; not second best. But it's Fate all the way.

Darry's sitting next to Ponyboy, head in his bandaged hand. Ponyboy's hooked up to monitors galore; the ventilator breathing its life, heart monitor chugging away, the tube stuck down Pony's throat and other various bags and tubes having no meaning to which Darry knows.

Darry does not have many words for his youngest brother right now. Only: "You have _got_ to wake up, Ponyboy. Do you hear me?"

The room's so quiet, Ponyboy so small, Darry so lost.

"Do you?"

*

Somewhere beneath the chaos lurks calm. It's hard to discern but it can be found. Maybe not tonight but soon.

One man leaves the hospital for a bar, seeking comfort in a longneck bottle. He will find it; but in the morning things still will not be right and he will be back to joke, to comfort.

One man lays across four chairs, shoes off, smokes out, thinking about retribution for a friend. The cigarette smoke swirls around his nostrils, fueling his anger, keeping his concern at bay.

One man keeps reviewing the tests, the charts of those in his care, eschewing the comfort of home, of his wife, for those in trouble.

One man stares at the ceiling above him, restless, anxiety twisting his handsome features. He resists the urge to just let it go, just let himself bawl. Instead he tries to sleep, only to be kept awake by his own doubt.

One man answers to ghosts. His mind explaining itself to his dead parents; their situation, his faults and fears, the tortured way his heart aches and how he wants to fix everything but just can't seem to make a dent.

The last one—the kid—is kicking and screaming to fight his way back. He knows what he has to do but not how to do it. It's lonely in the dark and as he reaches a hand out to me, calling my name, I take it.

*

"It took you long enough," Everett says.

I blow the hair out of my eyes. It's no longer greasy, only light and fluffy. Hair that Steve and Two-Bit would heckle me for. "Gimme a break. I was trying to wake up."

And boy, do I mean _really_ wake up. At first I was fine lying in a soft bed, chatting with a random woman, when I finally realized it was all in my head. I wasn't awake and opening my eyes was going to be a lot harder than I thought.

"At least you came back." Everett raises an eyebrow. "I had my doubts for a moment."

Darry's asleep in the chair beside me, meaning Sodapop is doing fine. I'm so relieved it physically hurts. "Thanks, Everett…" He looks up, surprised, and I add: "For leaving Sodapop."

"Let's hold off on the thanks," he tells me, removing his hat to scratch his head. "Once you're back, you can thank me."

*

Chris Meigs comes to check on Ponyboy Curtis in the middle of the night. Darry wakes, watching his motions as he takes Pony's blood, vitals and checks on the heart monitor. The green line jumps.

"You should go home," Chris tells Darry. "Take a shower or just sleep. I know these chairs aren't so comfortable." Darry scrubs at his bloodshot eyes. "Soda's fine, Ponyboy's stable. Go home," Chris prods.

"No," Darry says. "I need to be here…in case Pony wakes up."

"It's not your fault, Darrel."

Darry's face looks as if he's been slapped. He refuses to look Chris in the eye. "I shouldn't have brought him with me. I was an idiot. Ponyboy was never gonna stay in that truck."

"And it's a good thing he didn't." Darry looks up. "He found Sodapop – he let you know. If Pony wasn't there, Sodapop could have bled out on that field without anyone being wise. It could have been too late."

Chris is kind. He doesn't ask Darry what they were doing fighting out at the farm. He doesn't make any judgments because he can't; he was young once. Mistakes are a dime a dozen, it's the consequences that sting.

"Do you understand?" Chris asks gently.

Darry sags in his chair. "Sure, I understand. It just doesn't make this any easier."

*

"This is miserable." I tear my eyes away from the hulking force that is Darry Curtis.

Iris looks my way; her dark eyes are large and glossy. She nods. "It is very sad." Dipping low, she pops up beside me, shaking my chin. "But Everett, my boy, I've done something I shouldn't."

Fate crosses the room, skipping. "I've taken a life." Her hair is bundled up in a sleek chignon, giving me a glimpse of her graceful neck.

"You?" I raise an eyebrow. Fate doesn't have to answer to anyone and yet still I question. "But that's not…"

"My style?" She waves me off. "I know. I know. However, it will make us feel better."

"What have you done, Iris?"

Fate presses her hands together, knuckles straining from the force. She shuts her eyes. "I've righted a wrong."

*

An hour later, down by the railroad, the police find Holt Skelter.

He's been robbed and shot, left lying on the tracks like he'll never even be missed.

*

Pardon typos.

Special thanks to Calla for medical advice.

Please review.


	20. Chapter 20

SE Hinton owns the Outsiders.

Sorry it's taken me so long to post. Damn Fate and her meddling.

Second to last chapter. It ends on a cliffy but I will post the last chapter later today…so read on and review.

*

XX. Fate's Minutiae

Morning comes, the nurse rousing Darry Curtis to tell him they're moving Ponyboy to the ICU. Darry goes to the bathroom, washes his face, evaluates his expression in the mirror and sighs.

He'll have to go into work this afternoon, juggle his schedule. Darry hates leaving Ponyboy alone. He keeps imagining Ponyboy waking up for a quick moment, wondering where Darry is and not finding him. It's enough to keep Darry up at night.

After a few moments of collecting his thoughts, he's off to visit Sodapop.

*

Soda's already up. Chris Meigs is asking how he's feeling when Darry enters.

"I'm fine," Soda tells Chris, eyes dancing over to Darry. "Can we go see Pony?" Soda tries to lean forward in bed and yelps, touching his stomach in pain.

"That's not helping your case," Darry says, moving to his brother. "Is it okay if I take him?" Darry asks Chris.

"Of course," Chris says. "But you have to use wheels."

Soda looks sheepish. "I don't suppose they're turbo charged?"

*

"I really can't leave the room?"

"Not until you wake up."

"When's that?"

Everett sits down in the chair. "Just rest. And be quiet."

But I can't. Everything feels funky and white; like a mirage but with glimmers or reality tugging at the seams. I pull myself into a sitting position, bouncing slightly on the soft bed.

"Who's the woman?" I can't remember her features – only the dark hair.

"She's Iris."

"Is she really a social worker?"

A smile tugs at Everett's lips. "Is that what she told you?" He laughs, shaking his head. "Oh Iris…"

"So who is she then?"

"You're certainly full of questions."

I shrug. "I ain't got nothin else to do."

"She's important," Everett says. "She'll decide your…outcome." Before I can say anything more Everett puts a finger to his lips. "Someone's coming."

*

Ponyboy and I turn as Darry wheels in Sodapop. Ponyboy's sitting cross-legged at the foot of his own hospital bed. I sit in the chair beside his still self. When he sees Sodapop, Ponyboy's face falls, his green eyes sad. They look so much alike; the two of them. Even Darry sees it.

Darry lets Soda go to Pony alone, hovering near the door, arms crossed.

"He looks like crap," Ponyboy mutters, watching Soda closely.

"And you look any better? You're unconscious."

"Shut up, Everett," Ponyboy says. But he smiles, seeing his brother whole.

Soda, on the other hand, is not smiling. He takes Pony's slack hand. Ponyboy jumps, touching the spot on his palm, where Soda's touch is warm. Pony's skin tingles, feeling the connection. Soda entangles fingers with his brother's. He closes his eyes.

The hardest habit to break is love. Telling yourself you won't get upset, lose control, is a promise you will break. Because no matter how strong you tell yourself to be, nothing compares with the intensity of love's burden.

"Ponyboy," Soda whispers. "I know you're being your stubborn self, but we really need you to wake up right now." Soda leans forward. "Pony, _I_ _need_ you. Please."

Shaken, Ponyboy untangles his long legs, scooting forward on the bed, yearning to go toward his brother. I put a hand on his shoulder. "He won't hear you." Ponyboy freezes, staying where he is, his eyes moving to Darry, who looks like a statue in waiting.

Pulling his fingers from his brother's, Soda reaches across the bed to rest the palm of his right hand on Ponyboy's chest. Soda ignores the throbbing in his own stomach because to him, nothing feels worse than this. "Ponyboy, you can't leave us. This has got to beat for a long, long time."

Seeing Ponyboy unresponsive brings a truth home, which hurts Soda greatly. It's so easy to blame himself; it's hard not to do.

"Oh god, I wish—" Soda's voice cracks. "I wish it was me." Soda's face scrunches up like he has to sneeze and then he covers his eyes with his left hand. Ponyboy does the same. The two of them interlinked like no other.

*

Standing outside Soda's room, Darry places a palm on the closed door, hoping Soda's okay. Soda pale and sobered, had begged off claiming sleep when really he left a piece of himself behind with Ponyboy.

I leave Ponyboy to follow this scene. Pony doesn't feel much like talking now anyways.

"Greetings Earthling," Two-Bit chortles, walking down the hall towards Darry. I wrinkle my nose at the day-old smell of beer on his breath.

"I thought you went home," Darry says.

"Not home," Two-Bit says, holding up two coffees. "I went in search of beverage." Darry takes the coffee gratefully. "How's the kid?" Two-Bit asks.

"The same," Darry says. "He's in ICU now."

"How's Sodapop?"

"Worse. He just saw Pony."

Two-Bit bites his lip. "That'll do it."

"It sure will," Darry murmurs, taking a sip of coffee.

Steve, a bundle under his arm, joins them. "Well, hell," Two-Bit sings, "it's a family reunion."

Steve slaps the back of Two-Bit's head. "Where's mine?"

Two-Bit feigns sympathy. "Oh, did you want one?" He takes a long drink of coffee, slurping grotesquely at its lid and then offers it to Steve. "Here."

Steve shoves it back at him. "I'll pass." He looks at Darry, holding out the bundle. "I brought you some clothes from the house."

"Thanks," Darry says, taking the clothes. "I appreciate it."

"And that's as close to a Steve Randle apology as you'll get," Two-Bit drawls. "Breathe in the sweet victory, Darry. If only for a sec—"

Steve snatches Two-Bit's coffee, promptly dumping it in the trashcan. Flecks of liquid fly out, landing near my feet. "You son-of-a-bitch," Two-Bit says. "You flushed my buzz."

"You don't even like coffee," Steve snaps.

Darry rolls his eyes but the easy banter is welcoming. Checking his watch, Darry glances at Steve. "I have to go into work." He nods at the door. "Soda's in there if you want to see him. Can you check on Ponyboy while I'm gone?"

"Sure," Steve says at the same time Two-Bit says, "You've got company."

Chris Meigs rounds the corner, his face stern and upset. "Darry," Chris says, stopping to a full halt. "I just spoke to a police officer."

Darry wilts. "Is he with the state?"

"No." Chris's voice is tense. "He just brought in a body for examination. A Holt Skelter."

"Oh, holy shit," Two-Bit mutters. Steve, I note, looks a bit pleased.

"He's dead?" Darry asks, shocked.

Chris speaks up, all professionalism. "Apparently he got attacked late last night on down at the train tracks. Shot in the head. Now, Darrel, I take it you don't have any information on this incident, do you?" Chris's eyes are searching, questioning.

Darry meets them straight on. "No, sir," Darry says, "We don't."

*

"Hey buddy." Steve and Two-Bit slink into the room, closing the door behind them softly. They shut it on me, but I breeze right through. I take my hat off and rub my brow.

Soda's pink-rimmed eyes momentarily brighten. "Hey, Steve, Two-Bit." He scratches at the itchy hospital gown. "I don't suppose you're comin to break me out of here?"

"Well, Darry did leave so it might be our chance," Two-Bit says, sitting on the edge of Soda's bed. "How you feeling?" Steve slaps hands with Sodapop before settling back against the window. He lights a smoke.

"Like I've just been stabbed," Soda mutters.

Steve snorts. "Ain't that the truth."

Soda smashes a fist into his palm. "I wish I could've got that fucker. That son-of-a-bitch."

Two-Bit winces. Steve watches the end of his cigarette glow. "Soda, Skelter got shot in the face last night. He's dead."

Soda, surprised, glances quickly at Steve. "Steve, you didn't—"

"Hell, no. I'm not that stupid. I'd at least wait a few months."

"Can't say I'm sorry to hear about it." Soda's voice is low.

"Yeah, whoever did it did us a goddamn favor." Steve grins. Soda just nods.

Two-Bit frowns, suddenly serious. They're taking it much too lightly for his taste. People are hurt, dead; a replay of a year ago. And the one who would understand is unavailable at the moment.

I think it's the longest I've ever seen Keith silent. The room's tense; the effects of last night building up around the guys.

"You know," Two-Bit begins. "I think we got to taking too many chances with—"

Steve groans. "Chances? You gotta be kidding me. We didn't do nothing that we've never done before." He eyes Two-Bit, shooting him a warning look to shut the hell up in front of Sodapop. Two-Bit isn't having it.

"Yeah?" Two-Bit snaps. "Take a look at Soda's gut. That's not an everyday occasion."

"All of a sudden you're a fuckin philosopher? You want to analyze this?" Steve growls. "We've been fightin since we were kids. We knew this shit could happen. It comes with the territory."

Soda, who's been looking at his hands the entire time, says, "Ponyboy shouldn't have been there." Two-Bit and Steve eye each other warily, calling a silent truce.

I check my watch; I need to get back to Ponyboy.

"But he was," Steve says. "You couldn't have known what was gonna happen."

Two-Bit nods. "He's gonna be fine, Soda."

"Ponyboy can't die," Sodapop tells them, swallowing thickly. He isn't even trying to hold back in front of his friends. Darry is different; he has to be strong for Darry but not Steve and Two-Bit.

"He's still a kid, a baby even." Soda says, swiping at his eyes. "I don't think…I don't think he's even had his first kiss." Two-Bit stares at the floor as Soda looks at them desperately. "It just don't make sense."

"I know buddy," Steve says, ashing his smoke. "Nothing does."

*

A day or two comes and goes. Everett visits in the blackness but leaves me with nothing but the beeping heart monitor to keep me company. Darry and Soda stop in too; one of them always with me. Darry looks haggard and I can tell Soda's been crying.

One night Chris tells Darry that it doesn't look good for me and he may need to evaluate my options. Darry leaves the room, slamming the door shut so hard that Chris winces.

I want to go to them so I stay awake in the blackness, holding on.

And then finally she visits.

*

She's tall and thin. Long black hair folding down her back. Iris sits on top of the bed with me. "You're more of a child than you think. Innocent, trusting, open to any and all." She laughs at my doubtful look, folding her hands together. "So smart too. Tell me, Ponyboy, if you died right now would you have any regrets?"

I blink. "Of course. Doesn't everyone?"

"True. But would yours mean anything?"

"Probably not. I'm nothing special."

"That's where you're wrong." Iris rests her chin in her palms, elbows on her knees. "You've seen death and have not shrunk away. You've faced it. You're very beautiful."

I raise an eyebrow. "Hell, you're weird lady."

She laughs. "Such kind words. I've been called much worse." Iris flicks her hair back. "Why'd you do it? What gives you that selflessness? Save those kids in that church, save your brother, give your own life."

"I don't regret it." I'm annoyed at her questions, unsure as to where this conversation is going. "He's my brother."

"Well then, maybe you're not as selfless as I think. Maybe you're the selfish one, letting them go through the hurt instead of yourself."

I swallow; she's right. "Maybe. I think so." My voice is dry.

"Everett," Iris calls out, watching me closely. Everett appears, removing his hat. "I think I've made my mind up," she says. I shrink away from her.

"Everett?" I ask, afraid.

"What's your verdict?" Everett says, avoiding my eyes.

Iris rises from her sitting position to balance on her knees. She locks eyes with me, reaching a hand out to wrap around my shoulder. Her touch is cool. "Come to me," she says, moving closer.

I shut my eyes to block her gaze but her impression is strong nonetheless. "Ponyboy," she whispers, "this is because I believe in you. I don't do this very often."

I open my eyes, feeling her soft breath. I don't know how, but it smells like memories. Then Iris leans down, very close, and kisses me full on the mouth.

*

Pardon typos.


	21. Chapter 21

SE Hinton owns the Outsiders.

This crazy story is over! Oh, lordy.

Last chapter everyone. Thanks to all who took their time to read, review and stick with this long, odd story. I really appreciate it. It's been the trippiest trip I've ever typed up. But I enjoyed it all. And I hope you did too.

*

XXI. Of Memos Past and Present

Fate's kiss causes all the monitors in the room to go off.

It's late and Darry Curtis, asleep in the chair, jumps a mile as the alarms sound. It takes him a moment to realize the situation and then he begins to holler for help.

Instantly, the room is flooded with nurses and Chris Meigs.

"You should go," a nurse tells Darry. Darry refuses to budge; instead he's prodded into a corner where he wills his legs not to give out and prays like he's never done before.

The heart monitor's once darting line is now straight. Chris swears. "C'mon, Ponyboy!" The nurse injects Ponyboy with the medicine to restart a heart as Chris begins CPR. Ponyboy's chest rises artificially.

Fate waves at me. "That'll be all Everett. Remember what you have to do and best say your goodbyes." I nod. Iris touches Darry Curtis on his shoulder before vanishing, simultaneously flooding him with despair and hope.

Darry visibly pales, his handsome face crumpling.

I cross the room, a ghost in the midst of chaos. Ponyboy, a still figure on the bed, is getting what he wanted. I rest next to him. "You know," I say. "You certainly put up a good fight."

"I've got something!" the nurse cries.

Straightening up from CPR, Chris wipes his hair out of his eyes, examining the monitor. "He's in V-Tach," Chris says. Pony's heart is beating awkwardly. Chris holds his hand out and a nurse passes him the defibrillator. As she does this, I reach out and give the paddles a light tap. I'll fix everything.

Ponyboy's gown is cut open; the paddles rested against his chest and Chris asks, "Let's get a normal rhythm here. Ready?"

"Ready," the nurse says, flipping the switch.

As soon as she does this and Chris shocks Ponyboy, the machine short-circuits, causing a plethora of sparks to explode into the air. Smoke rises from the defibrillator, Ponyboy's chest red and burned. The nurse shrieks.

"Shut it off!" Chris hollers, holding the paddles away from Ponyboy. The stench of burned hair fills the room; I wrinkle my nose. It reminds me all too much of the electric chair of memos past.

Darry's eyes are wide and angry; he doesn't have to be a doctor to know something didn't go right. "What's happening?" When no one answers him, he yells, "Someone tell me what's happening!"

With shaky hands, Chris grasps Ponyboy's wrist, feeling for a pulse. His mouth is drawn in a thin white line.

"I don't know what happened…" the nurse says hysterically, evaluating the paddles. "I just don't know…."

Chris shakes Pony's wrist. "Ponyboy?"

Ponyboy is still. I kneel next to him and pat his hand. "I hope you got what you wanted. I won't be seeing you for a while. You're a formidable opponent who I've come to like." I put my hat back on, swallowing the lump in my throat. The act is bittersweet. I'll miss our chats.

"It's because you see without fear," I tell him, hoping he'll remember this. "That's why you live."

There's a long beat and then Ponyboy begins to cough. Chris stumbles backwards, caught off guard, knocking the tray of utensils onto the floor. Ponyboy's green eyes open. Ponyboy rolls onto his side, stretching cords and wires all around him. He reaches an arm out.

"Darry…"

Darry's a strong man but seeing this, hearing his brother speak, he nearly falls over. "Oh, Jesus Christ," Darry whispers. Then, he has the kid before anyone can pull him away.

Smiling, I rise. "You'll grow up with a strong heartbeat," I tell Ponyboy. But he doesn't hear me; he can't anymore.

*

It's three in the morning but Darry wakes Sodapop despite this. "Soda," he whispers, shaking his middle brother. "Sodapop."

Soda twitches. "What? Darry, what?" He twists on the bed, thinking the worst. "Pony—is he—"

Darry's beaming; something Sodapop has hardly ever seen before. "Ponyboy's awake. He's talking…he's fine."

Soda stares at Darry for a moment and then begins to cry.

*

I yawn, feeling soft golden sunlight on my face. I feel puzzled as to what's happened; my memory dark. I yawn again, rolling onto my side. When I open my eyes, I see Sodapop. He's sitting next to me, holding my hand.

I smile. "Soda, you're awake."

"So are you, kiddo." He rests his elbow on the edge of my bed. "I had to see the good news for myself. How are you feeling?"

"Good." I frown. "You're okay though, right?" As I say this, it all floods me: Everett, the woman, the rumble, the talks, the kiss.

Soda laughs, but it sounds sad. "I'm fine, honey." He runs a hand through his hair. "Glory, you scared me, Ponyboy. You really scared the shit out of us. I didn't think we'd be taking you home. And when—when I thought of how it would be without you…it was just…just black…I couldn't breathe."

_That's how I felt_, I think, remembering Sodapop on the field at the farm.

Soda sits with me until he falls asleep in the chair. I stare at the cracked ceiling, feeling like I've been away for so long. I touch my chest, the beat keeps going.

*

"Are you sure?" Darry asks, looking down at me with a confused expression.

Chris looks just as confused. "It's what the tests say. And I don't want to argue with them." He checks his notes once more. "It appears that uh, the uh, ___electric current generated_from the faulty defibrillator damaged the heart wall. But the ensuing scar tissue it created sealed the hole in Pony's heart. No more murmur."

I'm quiet, sitting in bed, recalling flashes of a woman with dark hair. Darry rubs my back. "I don't believe it. Are you sure you feel okay?" he asks me.

"I'm fine, Dar."

In fact, I feel better than normal; whole, sturdy. This scares me a bit, wondering what else Everett corrected in me. The minute I get home, I'm heading to the track. That's the final test; whether I can run or not.

Chris seems to read my mind. "You're here for another day or two, kiddo. You still need to rest."

I shift anxiously, crossing my arms. I don't think I can wait that long.

*

"Well, well," Two-Bit drawls, "Check out the invalid."

I laugh. "You're just jealous because you don't get all the Jell-O you can eat."

"I brought you a present," Two-Bit says, tossing me a brown paper bag. I give him a look and he rolls his eyes. "It's not porn, kid. Though lord knows_ I_ could use it." He grins and plops on the edge of my bed. "Open it."

From the paper bag, I pull out _On the Origin of Species_ by Charles Darwin. Two-Bit coughs, embarrassed. "I, uh, I thought it looked interesting."

"It's great," I tell him, smiling. "Thanks a lot."

He reaches over to ruffle my hair. "We missed you, kid."

I watch the door. Darry's gone to get Sodapop discharged and between filling out the forms and Soda and Steve's mischief I figure they'll be a while.

"Two-Bit," I begin. "Do you still want to steal a wheelchair?"

Two-Bit's gray eyes narrow. "What exactly do you have in mind?"

*

"Here, fresh air, kid," Two-Bit says, stopping the wheelchair. We're on the south side of the hospital, in a small secluded alley lined with dumpsters. Two-Bit glances up the side of the brick building to my room on the fifth floor. "Take a breath and let's get you back before your—"

I hop out of the wheelchair, relieved to feel ground beneath my feet. I have on my same clothes from the night of the rumble with Skelter. I refused to be wheeled out in a gown.

"Whoa, whoa," Two-Bit hisses. "Who said anything about getting out of that?"

"Ah, c'mon Two-Bit."

"Ponyboy Curtis, sit your ass back down." Two-Bit bats the wheelchair against my knees. "Just because you're in the hospital don't make it right to take advantage of me. Although many have tried."

"Let's race, Two-Bit," I tell him. "Just from here to here." I gesture from our spot to the dumpster about 400 yards away.

Two-Bit looks flabbergasted. "Let's _race_? Kid, you're still in the hospital, you got the shit shocked out of you, it's goddamn 40 degrees out and you want to race? Jesus Christ on the cross are you nuts?"

I must look pretty pitiful because Two-Bit sends the wheelchair flying. It smashes into the wall. "Fine, what the hell." He points at me. "I'm listening to you for once. Don't make me regret it."

I nod, readying my stance. "I won't."

Two-Bit gets into an awkward sprint position. He's not much of a match but when I couldn't run, anyone could beat me, even Two-Bit Mathews. Two-Bit counts to three and we take off. It's as easy as I remember; my chest doesn't hurt, no harsh breath. I just move my legs and go.

I reach the dumpster, turning to see Two-Bit racing up behind me. He's grinning from ear to ear, realizing what I was trying to do, even if he doesn't understand why. "You got it, kiddo!" he screeches, grabbing me up. "Glory, you got it!"

I'm so relieved I begin laughing. Two-Bit's cathartic. He gets me even when he doesn't.

"What're you two doing out here?" A voice snaps. Two-Bit sets me down. It's an orderly, propping the back door open and glaring at us. He notices the hospital band on my wrist and his eyes widen. "Are you a patient?"

Guiltily, I slink behind Two-Bit who affects mock superiority. "We're dumpster racing, sir. The finals are next week and we'd appreciate it if you give us room."

I laugh into my fist as the orderly scowls once more. He slams the door shut, leaving us alone. "Dumpster racing huh?" I ask Two-Bit.

He nods thoughtfully. "Think I'm onto something?"

*

Darry opens the door, holding up the papers. "You've been discharged."

"You mean I've been sprung, Dar?" To prove my point, I jump out of bed, already dressed in my jeans and t-shirt.

Darry looks amused but also wary. He holds a hand up. "Take it easy. If not for you, for me, kiddo."

I smile crookedly. "Sure, Darry."

Leaning down, Darry picks up my duffel bag. I grab the book Two-Bit got me. Something passing by the door catches my eye and I blanch. "Pony?" Darry asks, seeing me start.

Without answering, I dash out the door. Walking down the hall, her back towards me is a woman with long black hair. I make a move but a hand catches my elbow. "What is it?" Darry asks.

I shake it off. "Nothing, Dar. Nothing."

*

Home is quiet. Soda complains about not being able to work and flail around like his normal self for a whole week but Steve and I manage to keep him entertained.

I can tell Darry doesn't trust Chris Meigs's test results and I feel my brother's eyes on me, watching for the slightest pain or wince.

And there's no Everett.

At first I relish the silence in my head, hardly missing Everett and his strange foreboding warnings. I keep expecting him to show up when I sleep or cause me to pass out and wake up with another strange dream in my head. But it doesn't happen.

I'm left with resentment, unanswered questions. I shouldn't care but I do.

I'm very thankful. Soda's fine, my heart's steady. I just don't understand why it feels as if something's missing.

*

I wake up on the couch, next to Darry. He turns to me, his face highlighted by the yellowish glow of the TV. "What time is it?" I ask.

"Midnight."

"What're you still doing up?" I yawn, stretching my arms. "Ain't you got work tomorrow?"

"I got sucked into this stupid show." Darry gestures at the TV. Then instead of telling me to go to bed, Darry leans back into the couch. "Want to watch it with me?"

Surprised, I grin. "Sure." We sit watching the movie until a commercial comes on.

"Ponyboy…" Darry begins. "Who's Everett?"

"What?" My stomach twists into a knot.

"You kept saying that name in your sleep." He gives me a funny smile.

"I don't really know," I say slowly. "Just someone from a dream. I'm always running. I'm always lost in it."

Darry wraps an arm around me. "Well, when you can't run anymore, I'll always find you."

*

"You miss him don't you?" Iris asks.

"Who?" I turn away from the window, wishing I could see him. But he's alive; we know why he's special. There's no more need for me.

"Oh, don't be daft, Everett. You know who. The child."

"He never heard the reason," I murmur, hating the fact that Ponyboy Curtis's memories linger within me. Usually after a week, the subject leaves my concern.

"He'll remember, carry on," Iris reassures.

"I know. He was just so…different."

"And he always will be," Iris foretells without saying anything more. She smiles, her face lit up. A giggle bubbles from her lips. "I did such a good thing with him."

Laughing, I sit beside her. "Iris, you sure have no shame for flattering yourself." I take her cool hand. "When did you know you would save him?"

Her black eyes blink at me. "When he agreed with me." Iris's mouth turns up. "It takes much…an extremely strong person to accept their Fate."

Reaching out, Iris removes my Fedora. "You wear this very well, Everett." Iris runs her fingers along the felt brim. She raises her arm above her, the hat sticking straight out like a torch. Then, with a graceful flip of her hand she tosses it into the goldness above her.

It disappears like lightning.

I kiss her hand. "Thank you, Iris."

*

"You should be happy…." I mutter through grit teeth. "So why aren't you?" My legs pump with heavy strides.

_Great, now I'm talking to myself_. I take a breath and push through the last mile of my ten. I've tried running the track but couldn't be constrained to one area. Instead I wind up running through the town like an idiot. Once I even think I pass the DX and I swear I see Soda and Darry outside talking.

Now, on the side of the highway, the cars whiz by. I'm not sure where I'm going.

I didn't think I'd be this caught up with my escape from death, I should be grateful, call myself lucky and forget about it. But I have to know. I remember my mother's words from the dream Everett showed me. _He loves to learn…to __know__._

I sigh, so wrapped up in my thoughts that I trip over my feet. I hit the ground and roll down into the ditch laden with trees and dirt. Pulling myself up, I sit back on my heels, resting my palms in the leaves beneath me. I touch something fuzzy.

Tentatively, I get a firmer grasp on what I'm touching and unearth it. I feel my eyes widen; it's a hat exactly like Everett wore. I turn it over, inspecting it when a white rolled up piece of paper falls from the brim. With seized breath, I unroll it and read: _It's because you see without fear. That's why you live. _

My fist enfolds the piece of paper and I sit back in the leaves watching the sun set into gold. I smile, touching my chest. I'll give the hat to Two-Bit but the memo is just for me.

Before I can stand, a truck pulls up on the curb beside me, kicking out gravel and dust. The engine idles for a moment and then the heavy passenger side door swings open. "Hey, kiddo."

A familiar hand reaches down to me and I take it.

It pulls me home.

*

Pardon typos.

Special thanks to Calla for medical advice in all things heart-related. And yes, it's not just a FF plot. It can really happen. I learn new things every day.

Thank you for reading!! Please review.


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